


You've Gotta Be Kidding Me

by Sleepykit3



Series: Transference [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 1990s, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Asphyxiation, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Best Friends, Billy Hargrove Tries to Be a Better Person, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Bottom Billy Hargrove, Brotherly Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Demons, Denial, Dissociation, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Epic Bromance, Eventual Fluff, Fight Sex, Fights, Forced Masturbation, Forced Orgasm, Hate Sex, Healing, Hearing Voices, Heavy BDSM, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intense, Interrogation, M/M, Marijuana, Masochism, Masochist Billy Hargrove, Masturbation, Mental Institutions, One Night Stands, POV Alternating, Past Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Protective Billy Hargrove, Protective Dustin Henderson, Protective Steve Harrington, Psychological Trauma, Public Hand Jobs, Redemption, Sadism, Self Harm by Proxy, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Addiction, Sexual Assault, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smart Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Has Nightmares, Steve Has Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, The Upside Down, Top Steve Harrington, Torture, Triggers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, Virus, fuck the pain away, steve is stoned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-05-31 09:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 124,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15116678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepykit3/pseuds/Sleepykit3
Summary: It's the 90's and life hasn't been kind to Harrington who is now running the Hawkins bowling alley. Pissed off at the world and self hating, Steve buries himself in work, soft furnishings and weed. Refusing to look at his problems and isolating himself, he's become a control freak with Dustin his only trusted ally. All seems to be going alright-ish, the days passing monotonously until Billy returns to Hawkins.Destructive, reactive and with very little will to live, Billy just wants to burn out somewhere, invisible to the world but fate has other ideas. Setting out for a night with the guys, all his plans are torn apart as he winds up drunk at Steve's complex, and Harrington is having a bad fucking day.The incident at Lane 17 forces the pairs path to cross, locking them together in a power struggle as each tries to fight their demons. With a little help from Dustin, BDSM and the healing power of pot, Steve and Billy are forced to reevaluate all they know and come face to face with their worst maladaptive coping strategies if they want any hope of surviving the return of The Upside Down.Sex, drugs and violence - what could possibly go wrong?





	1. The Incident at Lane 17

The music was loud, unbearably so.

The novelty of thumping basslines and neon lights had faded years ago into an irritating background hum. The bowling alley had its charms for sure but those felt long gone as begrudgingly, Steve pawed his was through the next weeks shift patterns and rotas. He glared sourly at them over his glasses, rolling his eyes before staring blankly out of the grubby, back office window - his skin tinged a sickly green hue from the flickering, fluorescent lighting.

It was times like this he regretted his multitude of bad decisions as a teen, like not trying harder at school - looking back and wishing he'd done something other than sports and fucking around. He knew his management role was nothing to be ashamed of, he'd excelled at it despite his fairly young age but it drained on him.   
Most of his old friends had left to go to college. Nancy had got some kind of scholarship to god knows where and Jonathan, whilst not really his friend, had gone to art school and both had since graduated. Probably living their best life in some city somewhere. Even the kids were no longer kids anymore, all dispersed around different schools and it left Steve feeling trapped in this shitty office room in boring, backwards Hawkins.

It had been years since the last upside-down incident and whilst he was relieved to see the back of that nightmarish hellscape, he missed the backwards sense of purpose it gave him before his life started to fall apart - when the nightmares, crippling anxiety and depression started to choke him. He twiddled the pen in his hand, tapping it against his nose as he wondered which one of his underlings to throw under the bus for the saturday rush. Somehow, entering his 20’s had brought out a side of him he was desperately uncomfortable with; an angry, hateful Steve whose daily joy came from lording his managerial authority over his staff. Quite possibly because in all other areas of his rather mundane life he had no power, but here he could pretend to be a King again. Well… Not a king. More like a tyrannical overlord with a clipboard and a ridiculous shirt.

Steve grinned wickedly as he penciled the poor sucker into the most chaotic shift and got up, brushing his hair back from his face as he used to. There was a loud thud against the door followed by a shriek from some kids outside and Steve flinched - frozen for a moment before his adrenaline subsided a little. Exhaling slowly, he fumbled for a cigarette, flicking his lighter into action as he sparked up. He rarely responded well to sudden, loud noises. He had thought that by working in this noisy hellhole he'd acclimatise to it, kinda like recovery through exposure, but it hadn’t worked. If anything, it made him more irritable.   
Smoke curling out of his nose, Steve peered in the mirror to adjust his collar and winced, spotting the scar across his brow line.

"Fuck this." He mumbled to himself.

Was he  _bad_ for wishing he could just... go back in time and stay indoors? No monsters, no fights... Just some shitty films and a spliff? Steve shook his head. He hated thinking like this but sometimes it was unavoidable. Truth be told, Harrington was miserable, angry and bored, and none of that looked likely to change anytime soon. Stubbing out his cigarette, he let out a long, drawn out sigh and left his office prison - rota in hand, ready to ruin someone's day.

 

Ignoring the chorus of groans and hushed insults that followed him, Steve made his way to the noticeboard. He couldn't really give a shit whether his colleagues liked him anymore, providing they did as they were told, they could swear as much as they wanted. Besides, he was used to it now - work was work. You didn't go to work to make friends.

Turning to head back to the office he paused as a resounding crash interrupted the general background chaos. "What the _hell?"_ He exclaimed, rolling his eyes before buzzing through on the radio. "Anyone know what the fuck that was?" Bewilderd, he tried to scope the busy alley and cursed, unable to see anything behind the crowds.

The speaker crackled "Steve - Hey, uh, it's Becky, there's a group of drunk guys 'round Lane 17 - I think one just threw a bottle 'n knocked over one of the tables. No sign of a fight but there's glass everywhere."

Steve groaned into is hand as he replied, "I've _had it_ with these assholes - right, okay, anyone free to cover that?"

"Sorry, man - No can do, tied up 'nd I'm the only one on restaurant tills"

"Yeah sorry Steve, Jake and I are manning front desks, what about Jenny? She's usually about?"

Steve paced outside the office door, praying for someone to be free - oblivious to how anxious he looked. Everyday in this shithole, he had to scold some manner of wasted idiot and he'd had enough of it. He was tired and all he wanted to do at this point was down some more coffee before powering through the stock order. A simple dream that was routinely denied. His nails dug hard into his palms as he tried to run prepare himself for inevitable confrontation. There was a time he would have leapt at the chance to put these guys in their place but that Steve was long gone. This Steve would rather not end up in hospital or injured again. Anxious now, he ran his hands through his hair - frantically trying to reinstate the reality where he was apathetic rather than scared.

"Jenny? Y'there? Did you catch any of that?"

"... yeah, uh, I wish I could help but someone's been sick in the arcade - Y'know I would, I just - I can't leave it on the floor."

Steve exhaled and glared at the ceiling before storming into the back office to dump his glasses and grab the cleaning trolley. _This is horsecrap,_ he seethed inwardly, dragging the damned thing behind him as he walked doggedly through the crowds to Lane 17.

Shit.

He all but spun on his heel as he spotted who was lounging on the sofas. No way - no _fucking_ way. Steve'd had enough run ins with Billy Hargrove to know when to just walk away. He felt stupid, standing there in his work shirt hauling this trolley behind him like a janitor. He tried to adjust his collar to make himself look a little bit more managerial and winced at his insecurity. Biting back humiliation, he ignored the intrusive images of Hargrove beating his head into the ground and went on the radio again as the shouting grew louder.

"Y'sure no one else is available? I've shit I need to do." Steve pleaded, sounding more desperate than he felt comfortable with.

"Nah, sorry dude - like we're all busy right now and the others are on break. Maybe if y'scheduled more staff for a Friday eveni..."

"Y'wanna do my job, Adam?" Steve interrupted sharply, "Y'wanna take on all the crap I've gotta do everyday? Y'think you can handle it?" There was no reply. Good. "I thought not. Keep your opinions to yourself if y'wanna hold onto your job. Jesus." 

Shit, shit, shit. It seemed karma had come to punish him for his borderline-sadistic shift planning. Mouth dry, he cursed himself - he felt like a fucking coward.

Steve hated Billy - straight up loathed the guy. Arrogant piece of shit walking around like he owned the place. It had been years, almost a decade, since the days he fought with Hargrove - the last fight almost landing Steve on a stretcher - but somehow the memory always burned bright. He wondered for a moment if the kids used to freak out when encountering their bullies but he banished the thought angrily, disgusted with himself as this meant acknowledging he was still scared of Hargrove after all this time.

" _Man up Steve_ , man the fuck up - nothing is gonna happen. Stop being such a pussy." He muttered aloud, gripping the mop hard and marching over to Lane 17.

 

Sprawled languidly across the alley sofas, Billy smoked - shoulders back, legs spread. Steve couldn't tell if his positioning was intentional but it was near impossible to look away from the guy - especially now the UV made his white jacket literally glow. Fucking peacock, Steve thought to himself shrugging off some residual envy lurking at the back of his brain. How did Billy somehow get... more flamboyant than before? What planet does this guy live on?   
Studying him further, Steve noticed how his hair - considerably longer now - tumbled over his shoulderblades as he teased a girl by trying to pull her top down. The girl didn't seem to mind, infact she determinedly pushed her breasts further towards him and Steve watched, surprised, as disgust flashed across his face. And then it was gone - replaced with a smiling, drunk dismissal before the woman, top almost falling off now, rebounded towards another asshole. Billy exhaled slowly and flicked his cigarette butt onto the floor.

He was surrounded by people; “cool” people, the kind of people who listened to Guns and Roses whilst opening beer cans with their teeth, all clad in denim and draped in studs, chains and a flash of color. Billy however stole the show from right under the noses of his fellow circus acts. He wore a red shirt underneath the seemingly glowing white jacket that framed his chest perfectly, and Steve found it almost impossible to look away. What did he do for a living? Work out? Does he get paid to work out or something?

“Oi, Steve? Steve Harrington right?” Steve almost jumped straight out of his skin as some leery idiot slapped him hard on the back, snapping him out of whatever pectoral induced trance he was under.

“Huh? What?” He replied, turning to look at the grinning face of Tommy. The man stunk. It seemed very little had changed since high school.

“Steve! I couldn’t believe it! I thought you'd left Hawkins with Nancy and that lot, what are you still doing here??”

Steve straightened himself and offered Tommy a strained smile, “Well I just…”

“Found some chick then eh Harrington? Is that it? Arm deep in some bird huh? That’s the Steve I know!” The guy snorted, punctuating every question with another thump on the back. He grimaced, Tommy was vile at the best of times but drunk Tommy was just… The absolute worst. He slung an arm around Steve who cringed at the smell that seemed to permeate everything. “So come on then Harrington, tell me your secret, oohh manager now are you? Must be earning a shit tonne now eh? Your turn to buy the next round!” Tommy yelled, encouraging a cheer from the stumbling jerks behind him.

“Haaa - kinda” Steve replied, trying to peel himself away from Tommy's grip. He glimpsed over to look at Hargrove who was chatting to some guy whilst skinning up and sighed in relief. Maybe he wouldn’t recognise him. The crackling on his radio reminded him why he was here and Steve, mop in hand, adjusted his tone so that it was both friendly and authoritative. “Look, guys, I don't mean to be a hard ass but I'm gonna have to ask you to reign it in a bit.”

Tommy and co looked stunned for a moment then burst out laughing. “Come again Harrington?”

Steve eyed the group of people around him carefully trying to weigh up the right words as to cause the least drama, “I said, can you guys just keep it together? I don't want to police you but the bar has been given orders to stop serving. You can stay by all means providing you stop drinking on the premises.”

Tommy’s body language was fluctuating, his thuggish face contorted into a pitiful, confused, sweaty mess while he tried to process what Steve had said. He sniggered, and slapped Steve again on the shoulder but Steve swerved out of the way. He was on edge. He had to somehow get a hold on this situation and that required all of his attention, even so he couldn’t help but glance at Billy to check he was still occupied. “Come off it man, what do you mean ‘get it together’, we're just here having a good time, ain’t that right guys?” Tommy drawled loudly as those behind him laughed. “You don't have a problem with that, do you Steve?” He stepped right up to Steve who tried to hide his disgust by brushing the hair out of his face. “Do you have a problem with us Harrington?”

Steve was sweating now but he kelp calm, looking Tommy square in the eye unflinching, nails biting into the mop handle. “I don’t have a problem with you, I have a problem with all of this-” He said firmly, gesturing to the broken glass, spilled drinks and wrappers all over the floor, “I do not want to cause a problem, I don't want to stop you having fun, but-”

“But what?” Tommy growled, his gorilla like chest pressing against Steve's. “What are you going to do about it eh?” His tone had changed completely and his eyes were almost crossed with frustration. One of his friends held his arm to try and pull him back but Tommy wasn't having any of it. “Come on then Harrington, what are you gonna do about it, you gonna make us leave eh?” He prodded Steve's chest hard and, in a move that stunned even himself, Steve smacked his hand away with the mop handle.

“I can ask you to leave and bar you from the entire Mall for the rest of your life.” Steve said coldly, eyes narrowed, still fixed on Tommy's, mop handle now pressing onto Tommy's sternum. He was losing his patience fast. “I have no problem unless you make one.”

“Oh come off it Tommy, let Mr Boss Man have his fun and sit your fat ass down.”

Steve didn’t dare turn around, but he could feel his blood run cold. Shit, fucking… _hellfire_. He watched as Tommy grunted and shrunk in size, sliding onto the sofa next to Billy like a bloody lapdog. I guess there is no hiding from him now then, he thought to himself, gripping the mop and starting to soak up the mess around Hargove's feet.

Humiliation gripped his stomach as the assholes around him jeered. Draining the mop he returned, grim determination furrowing his brow, head down refusing to look up. “So… this is what became of the King huh? Cleaning floors for animals like this neanderthal here?” Steve didn’t see Tommy's stunned face or Billy's lazy grin. He tried to not pay attention to the mocking tone in the insult, just kept his head down and focussed on the job at hand. “Are you ignoring me now? Is that it?” Steve was now too embarrassed and angry to look up at all, he had no idea what to say and his skin was crawling. “Oh _Steeevvvee_ -” He felt himself flush with frustration and looked to the side to see Billy decanter his beer can onto the floor at his feet, “I think you missed a spot.”

Steve froze for a moment, rage almost had him paralysed but somehow he found the strength to stand and move to clean up the new addition to the mess. Inside he was screaming, he wanted to ram the mop right down the smug bastards throat and use his head to clean the floor, let his hair soak all this shit up. He finished and turned to replace the mop with a dustpan and broom to get the glass, teeth gritted so he wouldn’t say anything he would regret. “What the fuck is this? You spoke to Tommy but you can’t speak to me?” Billys voice was laced with irritation and disbelief, “Oi Harrington!” he snapped, foot slamming down on the dustpan, leaning over Steve who had finally had enough.

He stood up fast, throwing the broom to the floor, chest heaving as he yelled “Go fuck yourself Hargrove!” He couldn’t hide his rage and he pointed to the exit “Get out!”.

Billy was caught off guard, his eyebrows raised. He looked shocked for a moment and somehow relieved at Steve's attention, but that was replaced suddenly with a snide laugh, “He speaks!” Billy yelled, “The King blesses this mere mortal with his voice”.

“Shut it!”

“Behold! Watch as I make this King dance!” Billy was now cackling to himself, throwing the empty can at Steve's feet, making him hop from one foot to another to avoid it. The crowd of people behind Billy roared with laughter, and Steve flipped.

“ _Get your arrogant, stupid, faggot ass off that chair and GET OUT! Don’t show that drunk fucking face in here again!_ ”

Something in that got under Billy's skin in the wrong way. Steve watched as he did a complete 180’ and lunged forward, teeth bared in a snarl, but Steve was on fire right now and dodged with ease, watching as Billy crashed into the table hard. Steve didn’t wait for him to regain composure and gripped Billy's collar, lifting him to his feet and shoving him in the direction of the exit. The man was dazed, his lip was split and dripped blood on his white jacket and bare chest. He stared at Steve venomously, but then noticed the rest of his audience; kids and parents looking at him like he was a monster. Another member of staff had rushed to Steve having heard the confrontation and they watched as Billy almost fell backwards. Tommy and the near topless girl caught him, ushering him to leave and dragging him to the exit. Billy stared at Steve through bleary eyes and spat blood onto the floor before shoving the others off him, swearing at them till they backed off.

“ _Big fucking mistake Harrington_ ” He seethed through gritted teeth, before falling over his own feet and out of the door.

Steve stared at him, partially in disbelief at how much of a trainwreck this guy was being, but mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation, eyes fixed on that stupid white jacket until he was sure he wasn’t coming back before returning to normality and the gawking crowd of onlookers.

 

* * *

 

 

Billy staggered out of PlanetBowl, heart pounding, world spinning. He clutched himself and tried to hold his head back to prevent the worst of the nosebleed that had joined his split lip in their endeavour to ruin his jacket, but it was a losing battle. He felt dizzy and nauseous, Tommy's constant barking just made it worse.

“I always… I always knew that guy was *hic* messed up. Always so uptight, like… even at school he just… couldn’t let go” Tommy paused to let out a loud burp and Billy's stomach rolled, causing him to gag. “What the fuck happened to him though. That is what I wanna know. He was never… that bad, not like adult bad…” Billy ignored him and did his best to focus on walking in a straight line. He wanted to just get away from these freaks but they kept following him. He could never understand how they somehow seemed to know when he was in town, clamouring to him like flies around dogshit. He certainly felt like dogshit right now, and Tommy smelt like it. He swallowed back bile. Oh fuck. “Come to the quarry with us Hargrove” Tommy said, arm slung around his shoulder. I’m actually going to be sick, Billy thought to himself and shoved Tommy off of him hard.

“Can you just… fuck off for a bit? I gotta… go”

“Y’sure? You don’t look too good man-”

“Yeah dude, stay out with us!”

Billy heaved, hand moving over his mouth to prevent the inevitable vomiting.

“Ah shit, don't fucking puke on us Billy!”

“Do you need some water? Mate, sit down for a moment!”

“Swallow it down! Don't -”

Billy doubled over. It’s happening, oh god it’s happening. He ran off as fast as he could, which wasn’t very fast considering he was trying to hold his mouth and stomach, and the road kept twisting around him.

“HEY! BILLY! COME BACK!...”

Turning the corner, Billy slammed into the side of the truck. He looked at the inky, murky sky, pleaded with it momentarily to allow him to keep his food down and promptly threw up. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and after he had finished heaving he went to wipe them away angrily, smearing sick all over his cheeks. He swore aloud before slamming his head into the side of the 18 wheeler, something he immediately regretted as he resumed throwing up. He remained bent over until he was sure he was completely done being disgusting and made his way to the door of the truck. Billy fumbled for his key, dropped it, swore loudly and thudded it into the door. Gripping the handles for dear life, he made it up the stairs and collapsed on his makeshift sleeping arrangement face first. He slithered out of his jacket throwing it over the drivers seat and sprawled out. Well that was a complete disaster, he thought to himself angrily.

All he had wanted was to enjoy his layover in Hawkins in peace. Avoid his family like the plague, avoid everyone in all honesty, get as wasted as he could and go to sleep. At least he accomplished the getting drunk part, that was a definite success. Everything else, however, had gone tits up. He had intended to make it back to his flat but right now this lorry felt like the safest place for him. Billy stared at an old pizza box and grimaced, flopping his arm over to inspect a slice before smacking the entire box across his temporary home. It felt somedays that Tommy and his group of fuckheads spent their days waiting for him to come back. He couldn’t understand why, they kinda had this idea of Billy as this smooth, godlike creature, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He had barely sat down at the bar before they found him and set upon ruining his evening. He could have told them to fuck off, actually he had done so, many times! But they somehow seemed to take everything he said as a reason to keep following him.

Billy didn’t trust people and people didn’t trust him, he had just gotten used to playing this absurd character defensively that it had now become habitual. Impossible to switch off when he was around people, so he did his best to avoid them. He couldn’t hurt anyone, as seemed to be the default consequence of his existence, if he stayed away from them. He had always been drawn to the road anyway, so a life driving HGV’s was perfect for him. He could spend weeks in-between places, having interesting encounters with other people on the road and just… drive away after, no expectations, no complications, no feelings. Easy. Until he came ‘home’. But there was something different today to his usual chaotic return. Today he was ignored, ignored by _Steve Harrington_ no less. He groaned and rolled onto his back, legs spread and reviewed the evenings events.

Steve had definitely ignored him. Billy wasn't used to being so blatantly ignored by anyone and for some unknown reason it had really irritated him. He tried to remind himself of their history, and concluded it wasn’t really a surprise that Steve had given him the cold shoulder, but it wasn’t casual frostiness, Steve really worked hard to not react. That annoyed him more. He was only poking fun, at first anyway. The guy could have at least laughed, rolled his eyes or swore or something. Billy sighed and flinched, wincing as he noticed his erection. What the fuck was going on with him today? He flicked it but it remained hard. He wrapped his hands around it and worked it a little, looking out the window with his other arm behind his head. Did he really hurt Steve that bad at school? Those days were a bleary haze to Billy. He had spent much of his life trying to block out and erase any of the time he spent around his father that a great deal of his childhood and teenage years were a blur. He was aware he was aggressive to Steve, that much was certain, and it must have gotten bad because he vividly recalled being tranquilized like he was an out of control, wild animal by Max, but he never thought it was _that_ bad.

Billy was just used to being in a perpetual state of terror, rage and self-loathing. His time at That House had him bleeding, bruised with various fractures on a regular enough basis that he was often desensitised to physical violence, and when he got angry he felt this white phosphorescence take over him. When the burning, white out faded, someone was often bleeding at his feet or crying, yet he couldn’t fill in the gaps of his memory. Steve however... He remembered Steve standing up over him and being helped out by those kids. Essentially, Steve had won. No one ever won against him before - noone that is except his father. Billy was blushing a bit now, hand firmly clasped around his hard-on, picking up speed. If he remembered right, there was something quite calming about lying on the floor completely spent, defeated, unsure if he would get up again. Maybe he was depersonalising it too much, he didn’t know and Billy was now too drunk to care about how weird this all was; sprawled out in his truck, jacking off to his memory of Steve trying to fight him almost a decade ago.

He bit his lip, back twisting a little as his lower body started to burn and tingle. He kept replaying in his head how ‘in control’ Steve had seemed tonight. Even when he had lost it, he held this bizarre sense of authority about him, and that look in his eyes... Billys toes curled a little. They kinda seemed to hold more threat than his words, like at any moment Steve would have snapped the broom in half over his knee and driven it through Billys chest if he hadn't done what he was told. That made him want to obey him, but Billy didn't obey anyone. His breathing was getting shallow now, and his cheeks burned from the humiliation of what he was doing. If his dad knew, if anyone knew for that matter, he would most certainly be dead. He had been with guys before though nobody knew it, one of the benefits of living his life on the road - it offered him some anonymity he would never get in this shit town. Even so, somehow the idea of him and Steve wrapped up in a fight for control seemed… better.

Billy hit himself hard across the face. He was still jacking off but, as alway, Persecutor Billy was gearing up to make him pay for his stupid fag ass.

_Why are you obsessing over this guy? It has been years, he fucking hates you, you tried to kill him, the dude is physically scarred by what you did to him! You are a disgusting mess Billy, do you not remember how you acted in there? Are you that fucking stupid?_

Billy hit himself again, eyes closed tight, his cheek burning red from his self abuse.

_You did as you always fucking do, you were an asshole. You don't deserve his attention or anyone elses for that matter. You are nothing to this guy, just a traumatic memory to him, and look at you now._

His teeth were gritted, despair and desperation forced him to smack himself harder before scrambling for his belt, looping it around his neck and pulling as tight as he could.

_That’s right, you gonna kill yourself this time? Because that is what faggot filth like you deserve. They are gonna find you in the back of your truck, dead, covered in cum and this belt around your neck, a fitting end for a bastard like you._

Billy’s eyes were rolling back, tears ran down his cheeks as he began to feel light headed. He couldn’t shut out the voice, and he tried desperately to replace it with the image of Steve standing over him after he had crashed into the table. He was so close now.

_You couldn’t even kill yourself, you are that much of a coward._

Billy refused to let go of the belt, pulling it harder until he could feel his heart pounding just behind his eyes. It wasn’t enough, the voice permeated everything. His hand was moving furiously now, back arched. Was he gonna die this time?

_Nobody would care if you died, nobody will miss you, just fucking do it already._

He was crying properly now and he felt humiliated and pathetic. If anyone saw him… His tongue started to go numb and everything was on fire. It was cum or die now, he needed an image to battle the voices in his head, his oxygen starved brain trying hard to come up with a video reel that would take him where he needed to be.

 _You got nothing, you ARE nothing, another minute and you will be unconscious_.

The voice was right. He was starting to fade, pins and needles biting at his extremities, but he refused to let go of the belt. Just… CUM ALREADY, he begged. And there it was. Just out the corner of his minds eye. He reeled it in and tried to drown himself in it. It wasn't a belt anymore, it was a pair of hands around his neck. He let his mind follow the hands back to their owner and saw Steve pinning him to a wall by his throat, staring at him as Billy tried frantically to finish.

Fuck. Fucking hell! What is wrong with… me… He gasped loudly, and everything tensed as he came hard, his body shuddering yet he did not relinquish the belt until the waves had subsided, and his hips went limp. Billy let go of the belt and just lay there, his breathing was hoarse and everything hurt. He didn’t bother cleaning himself up. Just lay imobile, covered in cum, blood and sick, pinned down by the weight of his own self hatred, waiting for sleep to take him away from his personal hell.

_Fucking piece of shit._


	2. Reeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Billy wake after their long awaited, confrontational reunion in two totally different worlds. One in the comfort of his well decorated home, greeted by his cat whilst the other staggers home a complete mess, hungover and furious. Both however, are reeling and have seperately come to the conclusion that it is in their best interest to stay the hell away from each other, their secondary impressions forcing them to hate the other more. As both men try to move on with their day, the stage is being set for their next explosive encounter.

Morning came as it always did. Steve cursed bitterly as the sun, having finished bathing his room in radiant gold, smacked him in the face with a list of shit he needed to do. He always had shit he needed to do. He grabbed his pillow and pressed it over his face groaning. Steve hated being an adult, and he was determined to hide from his responsibilities by burying himself under the bedding and pretending he didn’t exist. Two minutes had barely passed when the silence was shattered by a grating yowl from the doorway. “Not now Fudge, just… fuck off for a minute,” Steve pleaded, glaring from under the pillow at the scruffy, ginger tomcat who was now clumsily scrabbling up his bed. It walked in circles on his stomach, burying its head into the bedding he was using to be invisible. Steve rolled over and Fudge followed, rubbing its head against his stubble and mewling indignantly. Grimacing, Steve dramatically launched the pillow off his face and onto the floor, grabbing the cat and nuzzling its tummy, “So it’s like this then is it? I see how it is, not gonna let me sleep then. Right!” he teased, forcing himself upright so suddenly that Fudge leapt out of his arms and hid by the door.

Steve snorted to himself and trudged after the cat in his pyjama shorts and socks. “Stupid cat”, he mumbled affectionately, emptying a tin of cat food into Fudges bowl, trying not to giggle as its tail tickled his legs. First chore done. He then took himself into the sundrenched kitchen and slammed the coffee machine on. Steve crouched down and stared at the machine. He knew it was pointless yet he was convinced if he could just… squint hard enough, the damn thing would speed up. Steve shot out of his skin as MMMBop began blaring from the alarm radio. He clutched an ear, wincing at the audio assault that was Hanson, and grabbed his scalding coffee, making his escape to the lounge. Steve was creature of routine; he took comfort in the repetition, but Steve swore that for the past two months without fail, Hanson would play at least 5 times before he arrived at work, and it drove him mad to the point he was about ready to ram the radio into the garbage disposal. He couldn’t really complain though, Steve thought as he sipped his coffee, toes sinking into the plush carpet. He had worked hard to make this small house into a home and it really was the seemingly insignificant things got him through his busy, dull and boring days as a manager. The coffee, soft furnishings, cigarettes, Fudge… It all made a difference in keeping his head just above water.

He grinned inwardly. If someone had told teenage him that, bordering 30 years old, he would be running the Hawkins bowling alley, wearing reading glasses, living by himself contentedly in a well decorated house with a cat called Fudge, he probably would have wet himself laughing before smacking them. To be honest, Steve hadn’t ever considered being 30 and yet here he was, coffee in hand, leaning out his living room window, smoke curling out his nose staring at the only home he ever really knew. For better or worse, Hawkins was his home.

He watched the dew covered leaves glistening in the sunshine, and for a moment, Steve felt calm. And then he remembered everything. The stupid white jacket, Tommys god awful smell and Billys rolling hair. Being mocked _again_ by Billy. Being taunted _again_ by Billy… Being so angry that he felt his hands burn; wanting nothing more than to humiliate him. Steve had gone years successfully managing to avoid Hargrove, but it seemed to him that fate had other ideas, like the pair of them were destined to be at each others throats until one of them killed the other. Maybe he was being melodramatic, he thought to himself, sipping on his coffee, but it felt to him like this was just what they do; antagonise each other and throw down. As much as he wanted to see Billy fall flat on his face repeatedly, he didn’t fancy his chances of being the one to leave him that way. Physically Steve felt like he was no match for Billy, his size could have been exaggerated by the clothes he wore, but Steve was sure that if the situation arose where he would have to fight him again, he would have to rely on evasion and speed, possibly taunt him until he fucks up again, like at Lane 17.

Steve paused, his train of thought crashing to a halt. _Why are you thinking of Hargrove again? It was just a one off, he will be out of town in a few days. Let it go, he probably has._ He tried to justify his casual, bordering-on-obsessive, overthinking by downplaying it as being rightfully cautious and planning his defence. Yet the thought remained, following him around like a mosquito. It made him itch. No matter what he tried to distract himself with, Steve would always return to imagining how to achieve a surprise win against Billy. The fantasy grew and he felt through his body a confusing rush of adrenaline, fear and excitement that he couldn’t quite place. Steve gagged as he downed the remains of his mug, spewing tepid coffee onto the herb box outside his window.

_What is wrong with me today?_

He tipped the rest out onto the grass with a grimace, and did his best to get Hargrove out of his mind. Steve set about his work out with an intensity that stunned himself, trying to replace the images of Billy running at him with his fists clenched and teeth bared, with muscle strain. He ate his breakfast faster than usual with the radio on loud to shut out his thoughts, and yet Billy was still there; towering over him and pushing him against a wall. He showered, scrubbing himself as hard as he could in an attempt to wash away the images but it didn’t make any difference. Billy still won. Over and over again. None of his theoretical strategies worked, it always ended up with Steve on his back looking up as fist after fist slammed into his face. “Stop it, stop it, stop it?” he said aloud, pleading with himself as he hit the tiled wall of his bathroom, “None of this is real. This is total fucking bullshit. It’s not gonna happen again. Get it together Steve, Jesus Christ.”.

Bewildered and holding his now aching hand, he trudged out of the shower in his towel, trying to tune in to the background noise of the kitchen radio. Fudge was back, winding its way through Steves legs, mewling. “I know you are a cat and all but… I’m not… I’m not being stupid am I?” Steve asked, sounding a little desperate. “I don’t _think_ Billy is just going to roll out of nowhere and kick my ass.” The cat yowled loudly. “Shit, that makes me sound pathetic. Am I pathetic?” Fudge continued to ignore him but Steve resumed his external monologue anyway, “I have survived worse than Billy fucking Hargrove, slimey hell dogs with all those teeth...” Steve muffled, pushing his head through his work shirt that he refused to unbutton for speed. “If I am scared of anything it should be them, not one jumped-up asshole with some kind of bizarre grudge” He pondered, slipping his shorts on, “Oh god… I am pathetic aren’t I? I just… ” Steve trailed off when he noticed Fudge had gotten bored and had vanished. “Fat lot of help you are, stupid cat.” he mumbled harshly, wrestling his feet into socks and shoes.

He made his way to the mirror and started attacking his hair, choosing to irritate his reflection instead. “This is no different to planning an argument, no different at all, so this is normal then. Absolutely normal” He then remembered that feral snarl across Billys bloodied face and his last words of “ _big mistake Harrington_ ” and Steve cringed, tensing. “Why does this keep happening, it’s not like I am trying to start a fight with him… Why can’t he leave me alone? I am 29, he is 30, this is fucking ridiculous, and what does he mean ‘ _big mistake_ ’? I was just doing my job.”. Steve knew he was kidding himself. Deep down he knew that he was angry at Billy, and that he wouldn’t treat any other drunk idiot like that but he didn’t want to acknowledge that. Not right now anyway.

Steve looked in the mirror again and noticed his face was practically bright red. He looked away immediately confused, choosing to risk doing his hair blind rather than see that face again. He couldn’t quite understand what his brain was trying to tell him but he resigned it as a theoretical and pointless problem for another day. It was simply not allowed. Nothing was going to happen, he was just being paranoid. Steve grabbed his bag, cigarettes, and keys, and made his way awkwardly to the door, turning to Fudge before he left, kneeling down so they were eye level and saying a little frantically “None of this is real, just some cosmic joke. I just want to punch him in the head. That’s all; just wanna punch him in the head and carry on with my non-Billy life.”. The cat looked at him confused but nuzzled into Steves chin affectionately. Steve smiled, stroked the cat for a while and got up to leave, locking the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

Billy awoke with a pained grunt to the sound of boots thudding against the truck. He massaged his temples, groaning. The nagging, banging felt like it was punching him behind the eyes, the unclear yelling from the culprit just pissing him off more. Voice cracking, he growled “ _FUCK OFF!_ ” which seemed to do the trick as the noise stopped suddenly, but now there was another more pressing issue. His mouth tasted like actual shit and was bone dry. Through bleary eyes he tried to take in his surroundings looking for some fluids to wash the taste away. There was nothing except for an old bottle of Bud by his feet. Grimacing he downed it, swilling it around his mouth and swallowed. “Fucking gross,” He muttered grimly, looking down at his cum covered stomach and the vomit still sticking to his jeans and hair. Billy, disgusted at himself, kicked the seat in front of him violently. _Fuck today_ he thought to himself, scrabbling for his pocket mirror, which left him recoiling from his reflection, wiping the caked-on blood angrily onto an old shirt and aggressively brushing the sick out of his hair. This was a new low, that was for sure.

He stared at himself, inspecting his neck for marks. There was only some minor discolouration but nothing anyone else would notice. His eyes on the other hand were bloodshot, a few blood vessels had also burst along his cheek bones. Thankfully, even though he knew where they came from, to anyone else he would just look like a crazed drunk. He couldn’t muster a smile, and sighed, throwing the mirror onto the driver's seat. “Don’t… throw up…” Billy grunted as he rolled to grab some wet wipes, repeating it over and over to shut out the nausea. All Billy had to do today was get back to his apartment, shower, change his clothes and sober up, but given his current state, he may as well have been trying to build a time machine. Somehow though despite all the odds stacked against him, he had managed to get himself vaguely presentable and he reached to grab his jacket, ready to roll out of his self made prison.

Bloodstains glared up at him from the crisp white, leather jacket making Billy freeze in his tracks. _Oh hell no!_ He seethed inwardly, using his nails to see if he could scrape any of it off. No luck. Swearing he grabbed the wet wipes and rubbed at it, which seemed to work to an extent but the jacket was still stained. He grew more agitated, scrubbing what he could desperately. Billy loved this jacket, it meant something to him and it had become his most coveted possession.

Seven years he kept this jacket clean and blood free, _seven fucking years!_ And now Billy felt like all this effort had been for nothing. He held the jacket close to him like a wounded animal, thudding out of the door of the truck and into the glaring sunlight. He squinted angrily, shoulders rolled over, his whole body tensed. It could have been the alcohol left lingering in his system, the residual self hatred after last nights… abuse… but either way, Billy was ready to blow. He couldn’t think straight, all he kept seeing was Steve's smug face in his minds eye and today, in the blinding morning light, he wasn’t amused or aroused. He was livid. Billy did as many do in his situation and, unable to handle anymore internalised self-loathing, he blamed Steve for everything. Blamed him for getting in his head, blamed him for provoking Billy by ignoring him, blamed him for the fall and his ruined jacket. Fucker always looked so self-righteous, standing over him like Billy was the one in the wrong, like he deserved this. Like his cock-sucking father, Steve had looked at him like Billy was beneath him.

Stepping over the vomit outside the truck, he staggered determinedly off in the general direction of his apartment. His brain ran in circles, he could feel from the back a quiet voice trying to remind him of his part in the ruined jacket but he couldn’t handle the guilt or that version of himself right now. He preferred anger to sadness. From time to time, memories crept up reminding him of what he had climaxed to the night before and that just made it worse. Billy's fists were clenched and he kept his eyes dead ahead, ignoring as the decent, normal folk of Hawkins crossed the road to avoid him. There were times that this would have made him feel insecure and low but today was not one of those days. Billy was running almost entirely on ego and rage, thundering his way down the back alley streets and right up to the murky, chipped door that guarded his apartment. He took a deep breath before stepping inside, slamming the door behind him furiously and marching to the shower.

Water running down his chest, his lips curled as he saw the scarring on his abdomen. Showering was painful now. Seeing his body was like a reminder of all the shit he had to endure, all the times he was weak and a failure. He hated his body, and whilst Billy worked hard to maintain it, he did so primarily out of self loathing. It was never good enough, he still felt too small. Spitting he arched his neck back and let the water run through his hair and over his face, at least he still had his hair, he thought to himself, washing it thoroughly so the last of the sick was gone. He just wanted to leave this shit town, get back on the road where he was free. He knew he had 2 days left of his layover, and he was tempted to just stay in this apartment for the whole of it, but Billy knew if he did, he would be bored out of his mind and self-destructive. Holding his head and leaning against the cold tiles, he let time pass slowly. As soon as he got out of this shower life would resume, and he wasn’t ready for that yet. Angry as he was, he was also drained. He just wished he could disappear and go to a feelingless and painless place but that wasn’t an option.

The phone rang and Billy reluctantly thudded his way out of the shower, ignoring the dirty towel as he answered the phone naked, dripping onto the floor.

“ _What the fuck do you think you are playing at Hargrove?_ ” Yelled an angry voice. Shit. “Drunk again? I told you about drinking on a layover.”

Billy rubbed his temples, brow furrowed “G’morning Adrian, something under your skin?” he said sarcastically.

“You’re damn right there's something under my skin! How do you think I feel waking up to calls about one of _my_ employees getting into a fight, defacing and vomiting all over _my_ vehicle?!”

Billy could picture the old mans face, screwed up like a raisin and red as a beet, spitting all over the phone. It made him laugh. “I don’t know, enlighten me?” He heard a thud from the other end, and smirked presuming that Adrian White had punched his desk.

“Don’t fuck with me Billy, you've had more than enough chances to get your act together. I am sick to the back teeth of you destroying my trucks, do you know how much it costs to clean that shit up? How much explaining I have to do when you get pulled over with booze still in your system?!”

“I ain’t fucking with you Adrian” Billy said as charmingly as he could, “why would I fuck with you? I’ll clean this up, you don’t have to worry about that, it'll be sorted by this evening. Keep your fucking hair on.”

The man on the other end of the phone sighed with exasperation before continuing, “I don’t care if you make the truck brand bloody new, or if it sparkles like a strippers body glitter, I couldn’t give a shit anymore. You are a great driver, your deliveries are always on time, but that is not the point Hargrove. You treat everything with contempt, you vandalise and behave without any consideration for company representation. I shrugged off hiring a fag, I defended your attitude and behaviour as much as I could but you are taking the piss.”

Billy gritted his teeth, looking at the floor anger and shame burning in his chest at the mention of his sexuality. He said nothing. He was used to it.

“I have had Sarah trying to get you fired for months now, but I kept giving you chance after chance to get your act together. I had hoped that by keeping you in a steady job, there would come a time you treat this company and myself with some respect, possibly even work your way to supervisor, but it’s like you see us with total disgust. I don’t know what I was thinking, I was obviously mistaken. The phone calls we have had to answer today Billy… They know you work for me; they saw you stagger into our company branded truck! You are supposed to be an ambassador for the company when you are in that driving seat but it’s like you don’t even care. If you have so little self respect and restraint that you will get hammered and start a fight with the manager of a family-fucking-bowling alley... in front of kids Billy, _kids!_ I… don’t see how this is going to work. I am done defending you.”

Hair falling over his eyes, Billy remained eyes on fixed the water pooling at his feet. He wanted to apologise. He wanted to defend himself, beg for his job, tell Mr White he did indeed respect the homophobic douchebag and that he was grateful for the patience he demonstrated time and time again. But he couldn’t. What was the point? He knew this would happen again and he didn’t deserve the compassion. Hawkins had this effect on him. He couldn’t survive this place without being intoxicated and Billy understood that Adrian was in the right. Even so, ego and rage spoke first before he could get a word in “Y’know what Adrian… just take that fucking job and shove it up your ass. I’m done with this bullshit.”.

He heard a long drawn out sigh through the speaker and his gut clenched in shame at his response but he couldn’t apologise. Silence reigned for a full minute as his manager gave him the chance to redeem himself, but when Billy remained quiet Adrian spoke for the last time. “Just get that truck back to depot in reasonable condition, I will have your severance pay ready. You have got to get your shit together Hargrove, you have potential yet you keep sabotaging all your opportunities. I am at a loss. Get the truck here by 9 this evening.” And with that, he hung up.

Placing the phone back in its cradle, Billy sensed the sting of tears behind his eyes. It felt like acid. He grimaced, running his hands through his hair and breathing in deep, trying to take in what had happened. He had lost his job, his jacket was ruined and he was back to being the bad guy. Fan-fucking-tastic. Billy Hargrove, the colossal fuck up. The monster. He hadn’t wanted to let Adrian down, he had genuinely tried his best but it was the Hawkins effect. He had tried to move but he had never earnt enough to leave properly, and it always seemed like too much effort. Providing he kept his distance from his father he was generally safe, however every hour he spent here it was like he would revert to his older, shittier self. Billy moved over to his hi-fi and put on Live Shit: Binge & Purge, turning the volume up as loud as he could bare, praying the music would take him somewhere else; anywhere else but here. Scrambling into his clothes, chain smoking and kicking the crap on the floor into the corner, he yelled along to the music. All that hatred he had for Steve was dissipating, slowly being replaced once again with self-loathing and disgust.

He tried not to think about finding a new job in this shithole but he was failing dramatically. He was terrified of being trapped again in a skin and an identity that wasn’t his. Scared that if he remained here it would only be a matter of time before the general population found out about the real Billy, and worse… That his father would discover that he hadn’t somehow miraculously become a functional straight man. Panic rose in his throat, gripping his chest like a vice and pushing bile to the back of his mouth. “I can’t do this”, he repeated to himself over and over, throwing his clothes into the washing machine. “I can’t do this, I can’t stay here. Where the fuck can I go? I can’t go anywhere, I am going to be stuck here for the rest of my stupid life! Shit!”. Billy was almost hyperventilating now, this was too much for him to handle. He trusted that Mr White would keep the information about his sexuality to himself, but right now Billy felt like a frightened teen again - desperate to run away but unable to because he was too fucking broke. _Not everyone is your dad, not everyone is your dad. Times are changing, you are an adult for fucks sake, stop being so scared of him. Nobody will know,_ he told himself, sliding down the wall and sitting on the dirty floor, two fingers on his neck waiting for his pulse to return to normal.

Fully dressed now and shovelling some sugary cereal into his mouth as quick as he could, he firmly decided that he would do as advised. Avoid everyone, keep away from Steve and the others, and try his best to stay sober if only for a night, and in doing so avoid all drama. It was worth a shot, he thought to himself, slipping into his old denim jacket and turning off the music. The ambient humming and thudding of the washing machine reminded him for a moment that he had achieved a goal today and that was a minor success, so he tried to apply that momentary positivity to the rest of the day. If he just went around the back of Planet Bowl he could guarantee that he would avoid Harrington and get to the truck with no drama. Billy took a moment to look at himself in the mirror, tweaking his hair and adjusting his collar. He turned the pendant around in his fingers, brought it to his lips and kissed it, pausing for a moment before bracing himself to face the mid morning sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The goal of this mission is to build tension, and figure out how to raise their angst and frustration at each other plausibly. I really wanted Steve to have this cat, I wanted him to talk to this cat like a friend/therapist because this guy is pretty isolated. Both of them are. 
> 
> As for Billy... I feel evil because I have to push him over the edge. Well, I have to do it with Steve too, but I cannot tell whether I am being too brutal on our boy Hargrove. I guess I want to over the course of this have a redemption ark that requires him to hit absolute rock bottom and then some. I don't want Steve to save the day persay, after all, Steve is gonna be facing pretty big demons himself... I just want to get Billy to a place he has no choice but to clamber out and chase the light because he will be in the darkest place i can put him. Despite all his best intentions.
> 
> For Steve, his journey is gonna be tough to write. I want him to seem level; his main issues on the surface being avoidance, transference and denial. All of this kept like that through routine, bordering obsessive self control and keeping things in a way that they need to be for him to live his little lie that things are okay, and that he is not infact scared. Steve is going to have anger issues, serious problems in communication and be a terminal overthinker. - hense all his confusion. Billys reintroduction to his life will force many things he has pushed down back up to the surface. Steve hasn't 'felt' in a long ass time, that is generally how he survives by putting his heavy, complicated and intense feelings in boxes and shutting them all away. But when hurricane Billy comes in, it disturbs his sense of order forcing him to come face to face with who he really is, which despite the redemption ark of Season 2, isn't that much of a pleasant person. 
> 
> Billy has had to slave for everything he has and he is his own worst enemy - self sabateur and massively destructive - but he knows he has potential. All he wants is to be able to get there, but old habits die hard, especially when trapped in a town the worst of your abuse took place in. He isn't too different from Steve though in this respect, Steve just... has forced himself to become so detatched from his feelings and himself that he cannot even achnowledge the shit he has been through. Both are scared, both are self hating, both just want to be happy and both have almost given up on it. They just experience it differently. Ones intensity differing from the others.


	3. Steve Harrington is Still an Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Steve.  
> Trying to put his best foot forward and return to work after the night before, Steve is unprepared for the reactions of his coworkers to this carefully concealed side of him. Confused, annoyed and feeling invaded, he feels bitter but enter stage left Dustin with a massive bag of weed and Steve is ready to start his unravelling.  
> Billy, fighting the past as best as he can, is in a dangerous state. Plagued with memories but trying to do the right thing, he tries to avoid Steve and the rest of the goddamn world at all costs.  
> But fate has other ideas. A very stoned Steve is about to fuck up in a big way and blow everyones plans to be the better person out of the water. Steve Harrington is an idiot and a shaking, hurting Billy is in no mood to forgive. 
> 
> Content warning for: flashbacks, abuse, suicide, self harm.

Steve had hardly been at work for less than an hour before the questions began.

It started with a few sniggers here and there, judgemental glances from other staff members, and at first he had no idea what was going on. He concluded he must have spilt something on himself and, not as innocuously as he would have liked, he crept to the back office. Peering in the mirror Steve eyed his reflection up and down, looking for any indication to see what the problem was. Nothing. He looked the same as usual; floppy brown hair, glasses, massive garish cardigan, shorts… None of which stained, nothing out of place. He didn’t think he was that bad the night before. He was just dealing with a rowdy customer, that was all. Frowning, he slumped into his chair and sparked a cigarette. He let out a long drawn out groan, sliding deeper into his chair. A voice in his head was trying its best to be heard but Steve pushed it down, he was in no way ready to hear what it had to say.

If the past few years had taught him anything, it was that if you ignored a problem long enough it may go away. Of course that didn’t work all the time, but it was worth a shot. He didn’t want to analyse yesterday's clusterfuck anymore than he had to and he was already frustrated that he had spent so long overthinking it this morning. Nope, that was it. He wouldn’t offer it any more thought, Steve decided, just gonna block it out. Not like it was a big deal anyway.

Steve yelped as the cigarette he had been neglecting singed his fingers, “ _fuck, fuck, OW!”,_ rushing to stub it out he hit the desk in frustration. His hand throbbing now he seethed through gritted teeth. Distraction, he needed distraction. Steve wheeled his chair around and grabbed a pile of invoices he had ignored and set upon them urgently. Shut it out with paperwork, he thought  to himself, and it was all going well… Until he heard a gentle knock on the door.

“Mr Harrington? Steve? Can I come in?”

Steve rolled his eyes to the back of his head. Jenny had a good heart but she was a gossip hound, problem was if he didn’t nip it in the bud who _knew_ what rubbish she would spread. He weighed it up in his head.

“It’s just… After yesterday I thought I would-”

 “ _Shit”_

“What was that? I can’t hear you.”

“Um, just… Come in Jenny and shut the door.” Steve flustered for a moment, palms sweating whilst he adjusted himself to face the woman who about to invade his sanctuary. “What can I do for you?”

Jenny peered in, her chaotic red hair falling about her shoulders as awkwardly, she shuffled to Steves desk. “You’re looking… good today…” She stammered, hands knotted in her work shirt.

 Steve watched as she recoiled at his raised eyebrow, straightening herself before trying a different tact. “There has been a lot of people talking about last night, I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

 "Why wouldn’t I be?” Steve said, looking her square in the eye with a slight smile, a bluff intended to distract her from her questioning. It didn’t work.

 “Did you know that guy?”

 

Steve flinched, “Why is that important?” Keep responding with more questions, that’s it. Maybe she will leave.

 “It’s just… No one has seen you act like that before. You usually keep your cool, but yesterday you flipped out.” Jenny anxiously twiddled her thumbs as Steve just looked at her levelly, leaning over the desk, arms folded.

 “I know him, what of it?” Steve could see that the girl was uncomfortable with what she was about to ask, so he narrowed his eyes, employing his best ‘ _You sure you wanna say this?’_ glare. That also didn’t work. Damn, this girl had courage.

 “Uh… well… has he _hurt_ you?”

Eyebrows raised to the ceiling, Steve stared at her over his glasses, aghast. What the fuck? _What the fuck?_ What gave that away? He bit back panic and rage, trying to neutralise his cornered expression, getting a staple lying around on the desk and digging it into his palm. The sharp pain forcing his anxieties elsewhere. “We have a history. Why do you ask?” He said, more menace in his tone than he would have liked.

Jennys face warmed suddenly, like she had a problem she could fix - like she could now help. It made Steves stomach turn. She moved over quickly and sat on the chair opposite him, reaching an arm across the desk to hold his hand. Steve flinched away. She tried to give him her best sympathetic face and spoke softly, “It’s okay you know? My mom dated this guy who used to beat on her. She was scared all the time but too proud to show it, too scared to cry. You know it is okay to cry right? I know guys don’t a lot, but you don’t have to act so strong, not around me.”

Steves eyes rolled to the back of his head. Not this again. Why does every girl seem to want to fix him? Is he that obviously broken? And cry? Why would he cry? There was nothing to cry about. He was shifting uncomfortably with the association between the fights during highschool and Jenny’s mom’s abusive ex partner. Billy just used to punch his head in over and over. Normal asshole teen boys fighting. He felt invaded by Jenny and he was angry. He was about to open his mouth but she continued anyway, denying him the opportunity to defend himself.

“Anyway, whenever she used to see him after they broke up, she would lose it - start screaming and throwing things. I know it is probably not the same thing at all but, I dunno... It just seemed obvious that something was wrong between you two.”

Throwing himself back in his chair, Steve held his head in despair which much to his annoyance, Jenny took as a prompt to attempt a hug. He pushed her away harshly. “Look… I appreciate what you are trying to say, but it is nothing, really. We fought in highschool, completely normal. The guy is a complete douchebag and was acting like an asshole, so I kicked him out. End of story. I don’t understand why it is a big deal. There is nothing wrong.” He watched pained as she pulled back from him. She looked hurt and Steve couldn’t quite figure out why. This was all too much.

 “I’m sorry Steve - Mr Harrington - I meant nothing by it.”

 He looked at her confused for a moment, before hiding behind a smile, forcing compassion. “It’s okay” Steve sighed, her body bwed submissively. “Really, it’s okay. I am just a bit stressed. Other than that I am completely fine, yesterday was nothing and it won't happen again.” She peered up cautiously and reluctantly, Steve put a hand on her shoulder, “Thank you for caring, it means a lot” He lied. Jennys face lit up slowly, and with confidence restored, she turned to leave, almost curtsying as she did.

 Steve waited for the door to close behind her before groaning loudly and hitting his head on a wall. Why couldn’t people just mind their own goddamn business? All he wanted was to be left the hell alone and just move on from Billy and his bullshit. Settling down again to address the invoices he was interrupted again by a knock on the door. “ _Oh for the love of CHRIST!”_ He exclaimed, before slamming open the door, chest heaving.

“What the fuck has gotten into you? Dude chill out, I brought snacks and smoke, lemme in.”

Steve blinked, hand gripped tightly in his hair as Dustin shoved past him and sat in Steve’s chair with a thud. On the table he laid out Cheeto’s, Funions and the biggest bag of M&M’s he had ever seen, and right next to it he watched Dustin place a large bag of weed right on his work diary. Steve had barely any time to think before Dustin tore open the bag of Funions, kicking his feet onto the desk.

 “So…… are you gonna talk to me about last night?”

“Oh fuck off will you?! It was nothing, how the hell did you know?” Steve swore, pacing around his office.

“Are you actually kidding me right now? Y’know sometimes, you’re a fucking idiot Harrington.”

Dustin laughed, his big smile warming Steves heart a little. He knew Dustin wasn’t exactly a kid anymore; he was in his twenties, working at Blockbuster’s and was a good foot taller than Steve now, but to him, he would always be that goofy nerd with the monster-lizard-dog thing in the freezer. Steve loved Dustin, strictly platonically of course, and he remained the only person who could rip into him - taking the role of the little brother Steve never had.

Grinning a bit, Steve slid into the chair opposite Dustin, grabbing a fistfull of snacks before continuing. “Yeah yeah, cool it. But seriously though, how did you find out about last night? More to the point, what do you know about last night?”

“I know you almost got your ASS KICKED BY BILLY HARGROVE!!!” Dustin cheered, grinning ear to ear.

 “Fucking hell, I did not.” Steve groaned, shaking his head

 “Yeah you did! But the guys said you flattened him! Threw him onto a table, smashed a fucking bottle over his head and kicked him out bleeding!”

 Steve burst out laughing, “No, no, nothing like that! I was just doing my job, I never hit him. I mean, he tried to hit me but all I did was move out the way.”

 “Yeah, but, I overheard Tommy saying you left him bleeding and he threw up everywhere, _you’re the fucking man Steve!”_

Steve leaned over the desk to smack Dustins cap down over his face, still smiling but this time he felt smug. He was glad Billy threw up, glad he was bleeding. Fucking asshole. “Nope! Just a dutiful manager.” he smirked.

 “Whatever dude… Smoke? Can I tempt you with some of this sweet green goodness?” Dustin shook the bag of weed in front of Steves nose, bringing it back to his lips and pretended to make out with it. Steve pitied whatever girlfriend had to endure that kind of loving.Almost crying with laughter, he leant back in his chair trying not to bite his hand. “Y’know what? Sure. Fuck today. Just to chill out. Bring your shit with you.” Steve said cheekily, standing up swiftly and slinging his jacket over his shoulder. “Hurry up then!” He barked as Dustin scrabbled to get all the snacks back into his backpack.

 

* * *

 

 

Sluggishly, Billy trekked through town. He had taken off his denim jacket within a few minutes of leaving the apartment. He had no idea why he brought it with him; he ran hot, and on this sweltering day, he was struggling to stay cool. Summer brought him strength but it was punishing, forcing him to sweat and stick to the shade. The last 24 hours had been brutal, just an endless torrent of shit and he felt powerless against its relentless flow.

He had only two jobs today; get to the truck, get shit done, and stay out of trouble. A challenge made harder by the cruel combination of heat and a hangover from hell. It made him agitated and irritable so Billy did his best to keep his eyes on the ground and avoid catching anyones attention. Defeated was how he felt. Defeated and useless. He liked his job, genuinely, and he had worked hard to keep it for years. It brought him freedom and a reason to leave this town, blasting music loudly as he powered down the highways, invisible to the rest of the world, camouflaged by the massive truck. It was all he had to keep him focused on a better path, his fortress. And now he had to give it up, leaving him with no escape.

Billy didn’t have his Camaro anymore and his heart ached for it.

Knuckles connecting with his jaw, earring ripped out and an attempt by his father to shave his head left him drunk and and running. It was a memory he couldn’t shake, and this town gave those memories power. Billy remembered falling over himself, wounded and emasculated, cursing himself for his existence. Remembered shoving Max to the floor when she tried to intervene, treading harshly on her arm and spitting at her as he, bloodied and in pain, climbed into the car.

Hands in his pocket, fingers wrapped tightly around a switchblade, he recalled punching the wheel and screaming, tears burning his eyes and joining the blood falling from his face. Billy tried to shake the steady flow of a flashback by running his finger hard along the concealed, small knife edge, feeling it bite into his skin. His hair fell about his face as he tried to navigate the streets of Hawkins in a way to best avoid trigger spots where pockets of trauma lay. Did it work? Fuck no. He could almost feel his hand moving to the clutch, setting his Camaro into motion fast, twisting the mirror away from him so he couldn’t see his stupid faggot face - so he couldn’t see the price of his weakness and submission. He felt in his stomach the adrenaline and he reversed out of the driveway, narrowly missing Max’s legs who was still on the ground.

Billy felt shame push bile to the back of his throat for how he treated Max. He knew it wasn’t right at all, and he fucking loathed himself for it, but at the time the golden girl had everything. Whilst he had to submit to live. But that day, that fucking day he was done with living; done with suffering for nothing, done with not being able to fix himself, not being able to make himself the man he had to be. His fucking dad had won, and finally that day Billy saw who he truly was and he wanted to eradicate it. Destroy it completely so he couldn’t be a stain on anyone else’s life. Downing whisky to numb the pain of his throbbing torn earlobe and cracked ribs, he had skidded fast round the corner and let his car power its way through town.

“ _STOP IT! Stop it, just fucking… go away… go away!”_ Billy whispered angrily to himself under his breath, wincing as the blade dug into his thumb breaking the skin. He tried to focus on the sound of his feet hitting the floor, the trees rustling in the slight breeze and the ambient noises from midday traffic. “ _Think of something else, anything else, don’t go there… please”_ he begged himself, pleading with his brain and cutting his finger deeper in his pocket, using the blood almost as a means to bargain with the memories to make it all stop. It obviously wasn’t enough.

His pain had wrapped a noose around his neck and was pulling him from the present and into the past. Billy watched disconnected from his body as his teenage self cursed his entire being, “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why can’t you be fucking normal? Piece of shit, cocksucking fairy, fucking deserve all of this. Deserve everything he did. Fuck you. Fuck this. You are both incurable and unfixable, you fucking monster. I _hate you_ !! _I HATE YOU!_ ”. He banged on the window of the Camaro, yelling for himself to slow down and trying to smack his hands away from the wheel. He didn’t want to see this. He had no choice. Shaking now in the street, pausing to breathe Billy leaned against a wall and tried to get a cigarette in his mouth. He winced at the blood that was seeping from his thumb, and after the smoke was lit, he pressed a fingernail into the wound trying to shock himself back into the present.

Useless. This shit was happening and all he could do was brace himself as the recollection of his first suicide attempt forced him under cruel seas.

He felt his younger hands tighten around the wheel committed. Rage burning through him, pulling him away from his soul.This was it, he was gonna do it this time. Do what so many others had failed to do and destroy himself. Younger Billy was on the back road out of Hawkins now, eyes blurry from tears and alcohol, foot on the accelerator, he thundered to his final destination - The End. Billy let go of the wheel, breathing heavily, his body tensing for impact and screaming into the roar of the wind blasting through the open windows “ _Just fucking end it! Do it! Fucking TAKE ME AWAY!”_ and then… It all seemed to slow down. The car veered off the road and slammed into a large tree at full force, the bonnet crumpling from the collision, folding in on itself. Billy watched helpless as his tortured body was thrown out of the front window, smashing through the glass and slamming into the woodland debris in front of him. He tried to shield his younger self from the debris as it flew past him, but winced when it flew through his body and crashed onto the cowering kid below him.

It went silent for a while. On the other side of the past, Billy tried not to cry, releasing the nail forcing the cut open on his thumb, and looked at the sky. He squinted and shook his head. Strangers avoided him; glaring at him because drunk, violent, unstable Billy was the only version of him they knew. He was breaking inside and the pedestrians walking past did as they always did - refused to look closer to see the tears. There were those who would say Billy had been lucky that day; that somebody in the sky had wanted him to live because he should have died. It was a miracle he survived, his fall cushioned by a fucking bush of all things.

He had not told anyone what he had done. Kept inside how he had tried to kill himself as the ambulance arrived and took him to the emergency room. To them he was just Billy fucking Hargrove who had gotten drunk _again_ and decided to drive, and he remembered bitterly their laugh as he was wheeled in, muttering “that’ll teach him.”. All the wounds his father left on him he let the doctors and investigators blame on the collision. Flashing red and blue lights, the smell of antiseptic and sirens haunted him. There was no one in the hospital waiting for him, no one concerned for him, no mother crying for him, no father holding his hand, no fucking friends rallying him on. The only person he had was himself, and that person had just tried to kill him.

A loud car horn cut through the flashback like a bullet from a gun. Billy jumped nearly out of his skin, taking it as a sign that he had to keep moving. He couldn’t fucking wallow all day. Had to move on, had to keep going. There was shit he needed to do and it didn’t matter how bad he felt, it still had to get done. He had survived the memory though, like he survived everything, and he tried to use that to push forward, putting one foot in front of the other until he was walking normally. Straightening his back he tried to mimic pride and embrace his disguise. Make it to the truck, get shit done, stay out of trouble

Make it to the truck, get shit done, stay out of trouble.

As if

Billy did as he had planned; sticking to the back of the bowling complex and out of sight, but as he rounded the corner he heard laughter. He slowed, cautiously trying to pinpoint the voices and where they were. No luck, there was to much cackling and coughing. Biting into his wounded finger he looked at the bright sky, feeling the suns warmth roll over him, and saying audibly “please, _please_ … No Steve. Let me at least have that today.”. It wasn’t that he was scared of Steve, he just made him feel things - too many things. Confusing things that took him straight back to self hatred. To him, Steve Harrington was dangerous. Every damn time he was near him, Billy would act out and get aggressive and he could never figure out why… However since the previous nights fantasy, he was starting to get an idea and he wanted to burn it out of himself.

He waited, still staring up at the sky, allowing himself to be distracted for a moment by a rather beautiful cloud slowly make its way to cover the sun. He didn’t know why but he took that as a sign, and like an animal stealthed in darkness, he rounded the corner with his head down.

 

* * *

 

 

“What I am tryin to say is… you are kinda shit against people, like… don’t get me wrong, you are The Slayer of BEASTS, but against a fleshy human thing, you got nothing dude.”

 Giggling uncontrollably, Steve punched Dustin hard on the arm.

“You go all… big chested like you have to prove something and… you just… always get knocked out.” Buckled over, Dustin could barely string a sentence together and he squinted at Steve, grinning like an adorable dumbass.

“Whatever man… Whatever… Animals just behave the way they are supposed to.” Steve said, pulling his wisest face and dragging deep on the blunt.

“ ‘Animals just behave the way they are supposed to’ What are you talking about??” Dustin was almost crying at this point. He was now very, very stoned.

Adjusting himself to seem authoritative and knowledgeable, Steve continued, “Like, they just do what they have to do. If an animal comes at you, you just… Well there are ways to behave that make sense. You gotta like… run downhill from bears or whatever, kick the dog if it comes at you, lower yourself and not move at an elephant… It makes sense? Humans just don’t have any bloody rules. How do you know what you are supposed to do against a thing that can choose to go against its natural instincts?”. He paused, feeling very proud of himself for how clever a statement that was and nodded to himself like a ‘ _congratulations for being a philosophical genius_ ’ kind of nod.

Dustin looked deep in thought, his brow furrowed and stuffing a handful of snacks into his mouth. “So…” he started, his mouth open and spitting crumbs all over himself, “you’re saying that you are _made_ to fight animals or something? And that your victory comes from their predictability and-” Dustin paused to cough and choke on a rogue M &M, but continued, seeming genuinely interested in what Steve was trying to say. “- And the fact they are tied to routine behaviours allows you to predict what their next moves are? That… That sounds kinda superhuman.”

Steve burst out laughing again, ruffling Dustins hair, tears rolling down his cheeks because the guy looked so pained having to think that hard. Passin the joint over, he grinned his goofiest grin and tapped his nose. “Not superhuman, just logical. Like maths. Humans are like… like language and art - shit like that. You can’t fully predict what they are gonna do or what they are about without serious study dude. And I ain’t got time for that shit. Demodogs attack on sight right? Guided by that tentacle command centre-ish thing, easy. You know if you see one it will rip your head off with that fucked up head of theirs and not think twice. So you know to just kill it with no second thought or run away. Humans though-”

“What about Dart?”

“What _about_ Dart?”

“He didn’t attack us, he… hung back.”

“Well…” Steve faltered unsure of a good retort.

“I think it was the candy to be honest. The candy, tummy tickles and treating it kindly that stopped it from killing us y’know?” Dustin murmured tenderly, looking nostalgically into the distance. “It’s gotta be real shit being a monster. You don’t choose to be a monster, you just.. Are one … but because you are one and you look like one, everyone is too scared and hateful of you to be nice to you. All Dart needed was some love.”

Steve blushed. He had no idea why, but Dustin had hit a painful spot. Something in that stirred up a well of emotion but, being a man with serious avoidance issues and incredibly stoned, he shunned it, stealing the joint back off of Dustin. If he was honest with himself, that empathy for the weird and misunderstood was part of his pull to the curly haired, stoner nerd. He felt safe to just exist around Dustin even if it did mean they spent their time ripping into each other. The guy could just see things Steve couldn’t. He didn’t care how any of it made him look and he was incredibly perceptive, but not weighed down by self-doubt and fear like Steve was. Somedays he wished he could be more like Dustin.

“HEy! Hey steve! STEVE!”

“Huh? Y’what?”

Thumping him hard on the shoulder, Dustin mouthed a very unsubtle _shhh_ with a finger on his lips, snickering under his breath.

“What?!” Steve snapped playfully, face twisting with confusion then concern as he registered Dustin’s attempt at genuine caution.

“ _Don’t look around just… be very small…_ ”

Steves face screwed up trying to hold back sniggers but he failed and burst out laughing again, falling against the wall with a loud thud, “be very small??? What? Why? Has a lion just turned up? Gonna tear us apart behind the back of the bowling alley in Hawkins? Be very small...” His chest was heaving now, but Dustin wasn’t faltering now looking frustrated, “ _What?_ ”.

Dustin jerked his head over his shoulder dramatically, trying to catch Steve’s attention behind him, his squinting, bloodshot eyes alert and paranoid.

“ _Oh Shit!”_

 

* * *

 

 

“Fucking hell, come _ON! you have to be kidding me!”_ Billy groaned under his breath when he noticed who was smoking up by the bins behind Planet Bowl. “No fucking way” he seethed. He had done everything right, did everything he could think of to avoid this guy and yet here he was, Steve Harrington. He breathed in deep, searching in himself for some kind of strength and pretended he hadn’t noticed them. No drama, keep focussed, just keep walking.

Then he heard Steve laughing. It was a mocking laugh and whilst he knew it was directed at the tall, curly-haired guy standing next to him, it still got under his skin, burning and corroding the dwindling state of calm he was clinging to. Somehow walking from one end of the complex to the other was taking a lifetime. Every step he took drawn out across eternity and his pride denied him the ability to speed up or turn back. _Look at the trees or something, look at the fucking leaves, focus. Ignore him,_ Billy repeated in his head, searching desperately for something to keep him grounded. Today was not the day to fuck with him. Head pounding from the hangover,  concussion, flashbacks…And fired from his goddamn job... It was taking everything he had to stay cool walking past the smug fucking stoner, but he had to do it. Providing Steve did nothing to-

“Not this prick again, jesus fucking christ, i can’t escape him.” He overheard Steve mumbling to who he assumed had to be Dustin. “I fucking… I just came out here to get away from his shit y’know?”.

Billy straightened, confused and shocked by what he was hearing. What did he mean “ _his shit”_ ?! All he was doing was walking. All he had been doing the day before was drinking with the guys, he hadn’t even been the one to smash the bottle. He wasn’t trying to trap the cunt. Steve made it sound like he had been following him for weeks, and nothing could be further from the truth. Fists tightening in his pocket, his cheeks were on fire. _All_ he wanted to do was avoid him.

He watched from under his sunglasses as Dustin tried to get Steve to shut up, but Steve seemed oblivious to his friends obvious concern. For a moment the guy made eye contact with Billy, wincing, his panicked face screaming silently ‘ _I am sorry for my shitty friends shitty behaviour please don’t kill us, he is just an idiot!’_ which for a moment made Billy smile, but the moment was shattered when once again, Steve opened that stupid fucking mouth of his.

“Fucking… lost his jacket now!” Steve tried to say without laughing, his attempts at whispering were painfully unsuccessful and Billy could see Dustin had almost given up now, shaking his head and holding it in his hands whilst his bonehead of a friend dug his grave, giggling as he did. “Just as well really,” Steve continued, his hand covering his mouth to hold back the sniggers. The guy was completely and utterly off his face. Billy wasn’t sure if he was even aware what was going on, either way he had no sympathy. He slowed to hear what Steve was going to say, peering at Dustin as he slid down the wall, still puffing away on his joint. It was like a signal to say to Billy _‘I am not a threat, I am not a challenge, ignore me, I am just a bystander.’_. Billy respected this and just left him with a red hot stare, waiting with his body poised as Steve hammered the final nail in his coffin.

“I mean… Did you see it? I thought he was bad before with those tight ass jeans and open shirts, but now…” He paused to wipe hysterical tears from is eyes, “he may as well have just slapped a sticker on his head that says -”

And with that Billy lunged at him, closing the distance in 3 long strides, lifting Steve by his throat against the wall and holding him there, his eyes wild. Sharp stubble dug into the deep cut on Billys thumb causing it to bleed again and drip down Steves face, such was the force of his movement, but he didn’t give a shit. Pain was an old childhood friend and it just fed his rage. Dustin rolled backwards, inching away. He knew better than to intervene at this point, he was too fucked anyway. Smart boy, Billy thought before he fixed his gunslinger eyes on Steves dilated, red, glazed ones and asked in a low menacing whisper, voice laced with venom and challenge, “What? Tell me Harrington, what does this fucking sticker say eh? Tell me right the fuck now.”.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Wipes brow* Oh boy. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. I have been planning the scene that will play out in **Chapter 4: Holy Shit** for months. It is almost here, almost time...  
>  *sighs* Billy. His heart is kind and empathetic at it's core, but having been unable to heal, it is defensive and reactive. I appreciate it isn't that dramatic; I toned it down where i could, but I didn't want to pussyfoot around the issue of surviving serious childhood abuse. It isn't an issue that should be. He is not a perfect survivor. He is a hot mess - so desperate to be free and seen, living as his honest to god, real self that he glimpsed in his life on the road, however he has grown to punish that part of himself.
> 
> He has learnt that living as that real Billy is dangerous. Despite this he cannot help but let bits of his natural flare burn through his disguise. A low cut shirt, jewellery, tight jeans that shows his body off, romantic rolling hair... maybe a bit of cherry lipbalm he keeps hidden in his pocket... He is a gay man with an outward image carefully created to mislead and privately validate. Preferring to be seen as flamboyent rather than gay. But this cage is stifling around him, and with every addition to his disguise that is more true to him as opposed to his persona, the more people suspect his sexuality. And he knows it. And he is volatile, insecure and exposed because of it.
> 
> Steve on the other hand lives so perpetually in denial that he doesn't even try to figure his shit out. It is easy to look at people who are in denial and think it is cowardice, but it isn't. It's necessary. Steve also wants to be free; to exist, be celebrated and have pride but unlike Billy, his sexuality... or who he really is has never been seen.
> 
> He wont know what he likes, who he loves, where he wants to be because the real Steve Harrington was a ghost and irrelevent. At least Billy has seen the mirror, even if it was smashed over his head till he was left traumatised and bleeding, so whilst he fights who he is, he can also find the cage because he can see it.
> 
> Steve hasn't. He has learnt to pride himself on what others wanted for him, measure his worth on being who they wanted him to be. He never questioned it - why would he? There were bigger problems. Bigger demons to fight and people to protect, no time for the one screaming in his head. And this leaves him seething under the surface the older he gets for every fake smile. Disgusted at those around him, cruel and cold. He does unto others what he subconsciously does to himself.
> 
> Similarly to Billy he fears persecution and rejection, but he has been taught that you have to just knuckle down and move on. Don't look at the monster in the room, unless it is a literal, scaly, demon dog that is. The real Steve though is flawed and angry. Concealed. His secret? Well there are many. It would be a giveaway if I reveal them now. I want them to be a shock to Steve.
> 
> I know this chapter is a bit rusty, but i hope you like it none-the-less. Love you all.


	4. Holy Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost a decade in the making - a return to explosive confrontation. Heavy, cruel and necessary. Steve's idiocy isn't going to go unpunished.   
> Two men with a world of hurt behind them give it their all to try and tear the other down by whatever means.   
> Here we start to see them both reveal themselves.   
> There isn't much for me to say here except, holy shit, and heavy content warnings ahead.

The wind knocked out of him, Steve kicked out, bewildered. His brain hadn’t caught up with current events; the weed still in his system forcing out involuntary giggles as he struggled to focus his glazed eyes on his persecutor. You’re a fucking _idiot_ Steve! He screamed to himself on the inside, Billy’s strong wide hand gripping his jaw so tight it made his head throb.

“ _What does the fucking sticker say?!_ ” Billy spat, forcing Steve to recoil automatically.

His usual sharp mind was gone now. He tried to open his mouth to say something… anything… But he burst out laughing. Despite being incredibly aware of the very real danger he was in, his stoner-junkie-fuck-up brain had decided to focus on how Hargrove had enunciated ‘sticker’ instead, and for some reason it was hilarious. Everything was fucking hilarious. And now he was gonna die because he had the GODDAMN giggles. Fuck you Dustin. Fuck you and your pot.

“Are you serious right now?! Are you broken Harrington?”

Steves back was slammed against the wall again and he winced as the back of his head clipped the brickworks coarse edges. “Jesus Christ!” he coughed, the pain forcing his hysterical laughter into his belly. Before he could move, Billy had lifted him up and smacked him to the wall again. All Steve could do was gasp, not quite able to panic yet.

“Let’s try this again eh? This fucking sticker I am wearing, this banner I have flying behind me. What does it say? You started this shit, finish it - go on. Say it. Fucking coward.”

Steve became slowly aware of Billy's blood trickling slowly down his chin. This was surreal, his mind was sluggishly trying to take in the situation, but it couldn’t quite keep up. He knew if he said what he was going to say, it would be suicide, however the more he delayed it the greater he risked brain injury. At least, that was the way it was looking everytime his head connected with the wall.

Billy moved his hand to grip Steves neck just below the jaw, lifting him up so his feet couldn’t touch the floor. Steve choked, still unable to get the words to leave his mouth. Billy’s hands were thick and steady, and clearly knew what they were doing; bloodied thumb and fingers tightly clasped around his esophagus. Steve started to kick again as dizziness washed over him. “Shit! SHIT! Fucking hell! Stop! Fuck you!” He swore, body bucking and twisting, trying to lock his own fingers under Billys to pull him away.

No luck.

_“Just tell him Steve! Fucking tell him, what the fuck are you doing?!”_

“You had better listen to your friend, boy. You have probably 6 seconds before you pass out, and if I don't have an answer by then I will let you drop and kick your head in anyway. At least this way you can defend yourself. Say the fucking words. I wanna watch you say them.”

Billy’s eyes were transfixed on Steves. His gaze did not waver. Panic had hit finally as he struggled to breathe; static in his ears and a pounding in his temples. Oh shit, oh fuck. Ok. Shit. I have to say it. Stupid fucking cunt Steve. His face was going purple now, and he could hear Dustin swearing at him to just say something…

He choked again, his words inaudible.

Billy released the grip on his windpipe enough to allow words to fall out, top lip curling, “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Fucking…” Steve coughed loudly, eyes watering. And out of nowhere a spike of rebellion. Anger building at this guys attempt at dominance. Fuck this. “Fucking cocksucking fag” He snarled, his bloodshot brown eyes dark under furrowed brows.

 

* * *

 

 

Billy’s nostrils flared as he watched Steve drop to the floor clutching his throat, coughing and spitting on the floor. Fucking cunt. His chest was heaving now, his shoulders rolled over and body tensed. “ _Stand up!_ ” he yelled furiously, “ _Stand up you piece of shit!_ ”. Billy gripped Steve by his collar and dragged him up to his feet “Don’t fucking drop on me now Harrington, I haven’t even started with you yet.”

All his best intentions were burnt by the incendiary power of his rage. The monster was back. He had enough of who he fucks being weaponized. Sick to death of who he was being the butt of some fucking joke. And this guy, this fucking asshole had not suffered for shit. Didn’t know suffering. With his normal job, his normal fucking life, friends, family… Fuck him. Why was he even trying? Billy was done being the joke.

As Steve struggled to stand, Billy grabbed his left arm and twisted his hand around, causing him to yell out and grit his teeth, and harshly, Billy placed his hand on the side of Steve's face, tilting it and pressing it against the coarse wall. “Get off me you fucking freak!” he continued to shout, legs kicking out from beneath him. Billy just applied pressure til Steves back was twisted, his face contorted by the pain.

“Why the fuck would I do that? Why on earth would I let you go now?” Billy snarled, his lips close to Steves ear so his words stroked the side of his neck. “Give me one good reason, I dare you.”

Damn he smelt good.

“Get off him you fucking asshole, he is just stoned, man, he would never say this shit sober. He is a fucking idiot, but he would never say that to your face if you hadn’t goaded him on-”

“Shut the fuck up. This doesn’t concern you.” Billy snapped, tilting Steves face so he could see right into his eyes, teeth bared as he spoke. Dustin recoiled again, still too stoned to really move or intervene, so Billy went back to ignoring him. “You’ve got everyone fooled, cunt, they all think you are some kind of ‘nice guy’ huh? Good, normal Steve Harrington, wouldn’t hurt a fucking fly right?” He twisted his arm so firmly that it was bordering on dislocation, and he watched as tears welled up in Steves eyes. “This isn’t the first time you have called me a fucking fag is it Harrington? How many others do you tear apart? Do you even know you are doing it? Fucking clueless prick.”

His expression was calculating and condemning. “There is nothing more deplorable, nothing more pathetic than someone who doesn’t know their shit. But I see you. I fucking see you.”. Billy watched as Steves cheeks reddened, and he could see shame force his eyes to the floor. Good. “Give me one fucking good reason why I shouldn’t rip this arm out of it’s socket?”

The only reply was physical. A knee had managed to swing up and connect with Billy’s crotch so hard he was forced to let go and double over.

Swearing, he yelled out and fell backwards staggering, clutching his groin that was burning in agony. He noticed something creep through his body, out of his control. Despite the obvious suffering he was experiencing, a wholly unexpected sensation caused him to blush and grow slightly firm beneath the hands that were shielding himself from further harm.

What the fuck?

So distracted was Billy that he hadn’t noticed Steve regain composure in front of him, nor did he react to Dustins cheering.

Why?!

He was now confused and distressed, the humiliation fuelling his anger. Before he could go to move though, Steve had knotted his hand tightly in Billy’s hair and yanked his head up. Billy flinched, his cheeks further reddening as he spied his blood on Steves cheek and now down his neck. That made it worse. Fuck.

“You wanna talk pathetic Hargrove? Let me get you a goddamn mirror.”

 

* * *

 

 

Adrenaline surged through Steves body as, sweating and shaking, he held Billy on his knees. He had been flung into overdrive and he wanted to see the bitch cower.

“You walk around like the world owes you something. Attention seeking whore” He spat, grimly looking down at Billy who was bright red, hands not moving from his wounded cock.

“Steve, just walk away-” He heard Dustin say, catching the look of shock rolling over his face. He blanked it, ignorant to the reveal that was going on.

“Everything you do is to draw attention to yourself. You act like you don’t want any of this; don’t want people to notice you but you can't fucking help yourself.” Steve pulled Billy’s hair back further, exposing his broad neck. Why wasn’t he moving to fight his hands away? “You crave it. Your whole being seems to beg for people to notice you. You could tone all this gay shit down, could do as everyone else does and just be fucking normal but you don’t because you get off on it. Instead you whine like a fucking bitch when someone calls you up on it, wanting the world to pity you. But who would pity you?”

Billy managed to separate one hand from his groin to try and swing for Steve's ribs, but Steve is nimble and he easily dodges Billy's desperate action. He looked down at him, disgusted.

“You are out of control you hear me? Strong in body but weak in mind. And that is a weakness. That is what you are, weak.” Steve said, his tone cold and unforgiving. Billy's expression was shocked and cornered. Good. “You think everything is solved by a fight. Too fucking stupid to attempt rational conversation. Reactive like a dog. And you look at me like I don’t know my shit. Have you seen yourself? You are a fucking trainwreck.”

Steve was enjoying this. He felt himself grow in strength and confidence, determined to make Billy squirm, still oblivious to Dustin's bewilderment. The cheering had stopped. Dustin was silent now.

He released his prey and stood back, body poised and ready to go. “You wanna come at me yeah? Wanna beat my head in again? Round fucking 3 yeah? Do it. Bring your worst. You ain’t got shit.” Steve spat on the floor at Billy’s feet as he tried to balance himself. “Poor Billy. Poor fucking Billy. You have no excuse for your shit. None. Just a cunt who wants to take out his own insecurity on all around him when they don’t reward you with gratification.”

And it was on.

Barrelling into his stomach with his broad shoulders, Billy knocked Steve to the floor, his head smacking against the pavement with a loud crack. Billy had him pinned to the floor, a forearm pressed firmly on Steve’s throat but Steve noticed something else… Pressing against his leg. Was he… Was Billy… Was he hard?

 

* * *

 

 

Billy was shaking with rage now. Hurt and upset at Steve's diagnosis. _“You don’t know ANYTHING!_ ” he screamed, “ _You have NO idea what I have lived through, no fucking idea!_ _Sitting on your fucking throne like you are better than everyone else!_ ”. His eyes stung by the tears falling down his cheeks.

“Fuck you!” Steve shouted back, whipping an arm under the one pinning him down and forcing Billy off of him enough to be able to swing around with his other hand balled into a fist, connecting it with Billy’s jaw.

Billy didn’t fall back, he was braced and ready. He could take a hit, he had done ever since he was a fucking kid. He shook his head, spitting blood on the floor as Steve rolled away from him. Before he could land a blow himself, Steve weighed down on him and thrusted an elbow into his ribcage.

Billy laughed maniacally. He had taken worse. “You… you still think you are the good guy right? Still… think you are better than me right?” He cackled, wincing painfully as he did, “Look at your fucking friend… tell me who the devil is now.”

He watched as Steve looked over his shoulder at Dustin who was momentarily horrified, and observed Steve falter as guilt choked him. Billy quickly took advantage of this, twisting a leg from under Steve and flipping him onto his back. Tears and blood streaming down his face, his smile feral and wild, Billy drove the heel of his boot into Steves crotch hard in revenge.

Steve buckled over into a tight ball. “Can’t take a beating eh? I have the upper hand here, I can and will take anything you throw at me.” Billy whispered slyly, leaning over him, his blood dripping onto Steves shirt.

 

* * *

 

 

 _SHIT!_ Shit, shit, fucking… oh my god. Steve was in agony, clutching himself. He thought he would pass out from the pain, but something in Billy’s arrogance ignited a need to overpower that he didn’t know he had in him. It wasn’t that we wanted to see Billy in pain per say… He wanted to humiliate him and have him beg. He didn’t have the empathetic capacity in the moment to stop for his friends obvious confusion and alarm, so he crushed down the guilt that was trying to make him pull away.

The tears were not enough. Billy claimed he could take any hit so beating his ass into the ground would only be giving him what he could handle - what he wanted. Steve would have to utilise his greatest weapon; words. “How many guys have you fucked then huh? Do you fuck them or do they fuck you?” He glared at Billy, assessing his reactions, noticing as he flinched at the latter. “You let them fuck you? Should’ve known. You strike me as a bitch.”

Billy looked shocked and trapped. Momentarily immobilised by being put under the spotlight. Fucking knew it. You’re mine now, Steve thought to himself.

“Steve…” He heard Dustin say in dismay, “You’re going a bit… far…”

“Am I though?” He snapped back, allowing himself to drown in his cruelty, looking directly at his friend who shrank away, appalled. “Why are you suddenly fucking caring?”

Dustin said nothing, looking at the floor as Steve rounded back on Billy who was still on top of him, motionless and trembling. “Do you bend over then? Do you expose yourself? Begging and needy like any fucking girl?”.

His words were vicious and toxic, and every one of them hit their mark. He watched as Billy shrunk in size, shame painted across his entire form. “Is that what gets you going huh? Tell me Hargrove, how many times have people used you? How many goddamn times have you let yourself be taken?” Steve arched his neck so he was almost mouth to mouth with Billy who was hunched over, no longer making eye contact. “Fucking. Fag.” He hissed up at him.

Then Billy lost it.

 

* * *

 

 

Exposed. Exposed and _seen_. Each of the words coming out of Steves merciless lips cut deep, one after the other. Billy wanted to run as fast as he could and hide, loathing himself in that moment. He was right. He was fucking right. How the fuck did he guess any of this? He spent his whole life trying to keep all of this under tight lock and key and yet this man had reached into his head and pulled his truth out, sharpened it and drove it into his chest without blinking.

It made him want to die. It made him want to kill.

“You fucking... demon!!!” he snarled, self hatred curling its way down his arms to his hands for the ultimate transference. With two hands, he seized Steve by the neck and held down hard. He kept seeing himself in his grip. Steve writhing beneath him, lashing out with animal force was himself. And that made him hold down harder. Kill him, kill you. Steve thrashed around beneath him and Billy could feel nails dig into the sides of his face. He was impervious. His superior body weight and strength coming into their own. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dustin try to scrabble to his feet and run off, trying to find help but he was beyond caring at this point.

He was wordless; reduced to a truly feral state. Every fucker who had ever hurt him… Every fist on his body, every time he has had to submit and take the hit… He channeled onto Steve. Billy wanted Steve to choke on his pain, as if somehow by eradicating him it would take all that away.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve, choking on bile with his throat on fire, did the only thing he could think of and reached up with all his energy to drive the base of his wrist brutally into Billy’s throat.

It did the trick. Billy released his grip again, choking and gasping, clutching himself. Steve didn’t wait to recover, standing quickly and planting one foot malevolently into the small of his back, using all his weight to force him to the ground. He twisted his heel into Billy’s spine, keeping him in place, standing over him. Sweat mixed with both of their blood fell off of him and onto the man below. Billy could do nothing, even so Steve pushed down harder, kneeling over him as he did.

“ _Stay the fuck away from me. Don’t come near me again. I don’t want to see that stupid fucking face again or next time this foot will be driving your head into the curb. Got that? Do you have enough fucking brain cells left to comprehend what I am saying?_ ”

Billy said nothing, still gasping and crying angrily. Steve watched as he uselessly flexed and tensed trying to move from underneath him. Pathetic.

“ _Stay down. Stay the fuck down. In the dirt where you belong_.” He said, heartless and cold-blooded. “Now beg for me to get off you. I wanna hear you beg for me to release you.” With that he ground his foot harder into Billy’s spine, hearing him scream below him.

 

* * *

 

 

Billy was in unbelievable pain, in both mind and body. He couldn’t do anything. He was well and truly overpowered and he couldn’t do shit. And now he was crying like a fucking bitch as Steve risked breaking ribs. This had never happened before. Even with his dad. This wasn’t voluntary submission - this was a total loss. He felt himself hard and pressing into the concrete. He couldn’t fucking believe what was going on. None of this felt real. Every act of cruelty Steve rained down on him was like lightning straight to his erection and he was powerless against it.

For that reason he couldn’t get up. He couldn’t let Steve see, but everytime the guy pushed him down harder, leaning over him the whole time, his aching dick would be being driven into the ground and it hurt so much all he could do was yell.

He didn’t want to beg. In no universe was he the kind of person to beg, but this pain was like nothing he had quite experienced.

“You gonna say something asshole? Or do I need to actually crush it out of you? _This is considerably more mercy than you ever showed me!_ ”

He grunted as Steve momentarily lifted his foot up before driving it back down. To his shame, Billy felt pre seep out of him and that was it. He couldn't. Couldn’t do it.

The nuclear option.

With his free hand, he fumbled into his pocket as Steve’s cold laughter filled his ears. Gripping the switchblade, he flicked it over and swung around to drive it straight into the back of Steve's calf.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve cried out, stumbling back against the wall, gripping his bleeding leg. Billy had quickly ripped the blade back out so he could roll away, which was a problem. Billy was still armed. Steve, eyes watering with teeth gritted swore “What the FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! YOU STABBED ME!”

He watched as Billy, without saying a word, growled and crashed into him against the wall again, forcing him to straighten. Drawing the knife up to his throat, full body pressed against his, Billy looked… He looked incredible. He didn’t understand where the thought had come from, and was moving to dismiss it as quickly as he could but all that muscle... that power, that chaos… What the fuck is going on?! Blood pooling at his feet, he looked at Billy square in the eyes. Challenge was their connection. His blue eyes pale almost steel grey and glistening, flecked with burst blood vessels. Lip split, bruises blossoming across his cheek and jawbones with teeth bared - it was like looking at a wolf about to lay the killing blow after a punishing drawn out battle with an equal. His mane matted caked in blood... And the tears…

Billy pressed the blade into Steves long neck, and Steve tensed everything he could. He heard Dustin come flying around the corner yelling for him, but this was _his_ fight.

They were silent for a moment, both panting and tensed waiting for the others move.

And Steve felt it again. Billy was definitely hard. Holy shit the guy was fucking hard. This made him hot across his body, leaving him confused and flustered. His eyes glanced down to see Billy pressed against him and Billy followed his gaze down. He looked back up at Billy, the corners of Steve's mouth going into a wicked grin watching the blush spread across his opponents face. Victory.

He laughed. Billy dug the blade into Steve's neck as Dustin shouted from behind them something about the police being on their way, and as the knife edge pierced his skin slowly, Steve reached down, grabbed Billy’s erection as hard as he could and applied a twist, and for some reason he couldn't understand, he rolled it in his hand.

He watched as Billy tensed all over and shuddered, the blade dropping. Watched as he gasped and went breathless. Watched as wave after wave ricocheted through his body and straight up Steves arms.

Time slowed, and he heard Dustin's run come to a crashing halt. Steve was revealed. Standing there, squarely looking a guy almost twice his size with a knife to his throat completely unwavering, as he drained what strength Billy had in him with a sadistic hand.

Do it. Fucking do it. Steve thought from a dark corner of his brain.

Billy bit his lip, eyes closed tightly, trying to keep quiet but Steve could hear him and he drank it like a fine wine.

The man tried to fight it, tried to hold back, but his fight was lacking. Steve however, had no interest in letting go until he was sure Billy had everything stripped from him.

Steve felt the heat in his hand and then a final tremor. Looked as Billy completely helpless had to prop himself against the wall as he came. Before Steve could embrace the wetness in his hand, Billy pulled away quickly looking horrified. He was now very small beneath Steve even with his bleeding calf. Deflated and destroyed - he too revealed.

Billy’s eyes darted from him to Dustin, and then turned tail and ran. Fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! thank you for the lovely comments!!
> 
> I am so poorly at the minute - struck with tonsilitis (what even) and flu. As such I am not gonna do the full notes today, I will do them tomorrow and the corrections to a previous chapter. I hope you all like it. I wanna make it clear straight up, i do not condone either of their behaviours, especially Steve's final act but this will be addressed in the next chapter. Dustin is gonna give Steve the bollocking of a lifetime. 
> 
> Anywho i hope you guys like it, this was a real text, will add more tomorrow 
> 
> mwah


	5. Revelations.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of their second and most deadly fight, Billy is left running and in agony. Abandoned to come to terms with what Steve has done to him, he tries to fight it with denial but his mind will not let him escape it. It had to be Billy's fault surely? Why Steve did what he did... 
> 
> Whilst Billy crashes and burns, a bleeding and victorious Steve gets his ass handed to him by his mortified best friend Dustin, who had watched the entire thing. Being the pillar of morality, Dustin forces Steve to look in the goddamn mirror to see what he had done to Billy and how it was not justified. But they both get more than they bargain for as Steve unwittingly reveals his history, and it is up to Dustin to inform him that Steve himself, was infact a survivor. 
> 
> Content warning: discussion of Sexual Assault, Rape, Self Harm.

Tears streaming from his cheeks, Billy fled. His heart had been pushed from his chest and forced into his throat. Choking on stomach acid, he kept his eyes to the ground and watched deliriously as it seemed to pulse and throb beneath him. His body was in pain; some parts had to have been broken but he could hardly feel it. Shame choked him and he felt invaded.

He remained fairly unseen in his flight, sticking to the back of the mall and bowling alley. Those that did see him did nothing - they never did. It wasn’t like he was a girl, running bloodied and crying. He was a guy and no one gave a shit.

His feet that at first felt heavy like lead slamming onto the concrete now felt like they were hardly there at all . Unable to connect with his body, he felt somehow in that blistering humiliation and loss a disconnect; his brain working overtime to dissociate what had just happened from himself.

The only thing he could allow himself to notice was the evidence of his corruption in his jeans now darkening the denim, something he felt radiated from him for all to see. It made him gag. This was a mess he couldn’t handle. The air in his lungs scalded his throat as panting, he didn’t stop - not even as the lactic acid punished his legs.

He felt violated. He felt broken. He felt… like he had been turned inside out and the voices did not stop. Blood was still matted in his hair, and pooled across his chin and collarbone, but he couldn’t care less about that. He would have preferred that it was blood in his pants rather than his weakness.

Billy had never felt smaller. Never felt as vulnerable and powerless as he did now, in spite of his physical strength. Despite how hard he fucking fought to win against him.

It was not enough.

He must have been too fucking visible; his soul too obvious. Was it the clothes? Was it the hair? What gave him away to such an extent that Steve Harrington of all people could extract that from him. His body trembled as it weakened. The initial surge of power in his sprint waning, his body starting to catch up with the damage done to it. Crashing into the side of the truck he collapsed on the floor, staring in between his legs before covering it, doubled over.

Billy had been called many fucking slurs for liking guys all his life. He could write a book with the shit people had said to him. But that was typical, something that following his father, he had essentially resigned himself to. Strong to defend himself against any fucker that went too far. But he had never been _read_ like that. Even within the disgusting dive bars where he would find his hook-ups, it had always come as a shock that he liked to receive - no matter how seasoned the man on the other end. It was a secret and part of the drive behind his disguise and mass. He perceived knowledge of this part of him as the _real_ threat; a means by which others could undermine his masculinity and castrate him. Submission and taking had somehow for most people been wrongly associated with femininity and weakness, but for Billy it was the opposite.

A means to prove his strength and what he could take. To let go of control for all that bullshit he had to reign in on a daily basis. A place to hurt if he was honest, to hurt and feel. Powerless. Truthfully, there were very few individuals that inspired him to fuck; the idea of putting himself in someone he didn’t feel that connection to repulsed him. An honour he wouldn’t give to anyone he saw as less. By taking he could convince himself he was using them. He didn’t even have to look at them as they did what they wanted with him, and he could stagger away having had his.

Even so, he shielded this shit. Worked so hard to shroud it.

Yet Steve with the determined eyes of a sniper had seen it, toyed with it in front of him and punished him for it. Like a fucking killer whale, flipping their helpless prey over and over in the sea, exhausting them before drowning them. What was more confusing was how he had chosen to continue his berating. He could have walked the fuck away. There was a point that Billy would have honestly stayed down, but Steve kept pushing like he enjoyed it.

The memory of Steve's face snarling and laughing down at him made his spent and wounded dick jump in his pants, firming again.

Shit! No. Fucking stop...

Billy had sincerely meant what he said about Steve’s coldness. He had seen it back in school. A cruelty based on insecurity and need to conform, and some deeper shit he couldn’t quite read. Competitiveness. When anyone challenged his throne, his collected facade would waver and the claws would come out. It formed part of the pull to continually antagonise him. Billy loved watching Steve falter and feel emasculated, mainly because it would bring an overcompensation. Problem was, for the most of it, he had always seemed to hold back from full capacity. Which made Billy push harder.

Steve was so determined to be the ‘nice, preppy heartthrob’ that his actual identity seemed to just... cease to exist. And Billy just wanted to see what was underneath, though he never took the time to process that. Why would he? At the time, he was just a horrifically abused, asshole, closeted gay teenager, who couldn’t create distance between reaction and rationality. He just wanted to fuck with him. Playfully.

All that he did - all that Billy remembered, as he staggered into the filthy truck, must have somehow provoked this, right? Had to have been justified. He had, after all, tried to kill Steve on a few occasions. Maybe this was justified; Billy’s shit behaviour coming full circle?

He scrabbled frantically in his head for some rational explanation for what had just happened, looking for answers and the only one he could find was that this was his fault.

He, the monster. Steve, his captor and persecutor. Some kind of karmic retribution for all the shit Billy had done in his life and who he really was.

Leaning against the grubby wall of the trailer, he forced himself to truly look at his cum soaked jeans. He was riding a fucking semi. He moved to get a smoke from his pocket but a voice, chilled and ruthless, snuck from the back of the complete clusterfuck that was his mind and whispered in his ear, forcing his blood to go cold.

 

_“He made you cum, Billy.”_

 

He shook his head. Despite knowing the truth in the statement, it was still a shock - he had, after all, been trying to find answers rather than look at the actual incident itself. Bury himself in explanations rather than see.

_“You could’ve killed him Billy, could’ve sliced his neck open but you didn’t. Why didn’t you? I’ll tell you why. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to stop him.”_

“No!” He said audibly and defiantly, eyes still transfixed on his crotch. Reality felt disconnected and shaking - visible and tactile truth before him wavering.

_“You see that? Touch it. Undo your fucking buttons and touch what he made you do.”_

Billy, hypnotised, obeyed. Pins and needles across his body, feeling faint as he undid his jeans, and peeled his sodden pants from him to expose himself. He choked and almost vomited.

_“Touch it.”_

Billy shook his head, eyes closed tight, but he had to. He obeyed again, his hands slick and sticky. He cried out to his empty trailer and empty world in disgust and pain.

_“You want to know the truth Billy? Why Steve did this? Why that thought even crossed his mind in the first place, yes?”_

He said nothing, just cried and slammed his head on the wall, his hand still locked around his lingering erection. He felt scenes being pushed into his mind’s eye, so even when he closed his tightly he was still forced to watch and feel. Fuck this, fuck _all of this_.

_“I can show you. I will show you. You wanna see the reason? Wanna see what happened?”_

“NO.”

_“Tough shit. We aren’t gonna let you forget anything. Let me cauterise this into your fucking memory, fag. Watch. See why he did it.”_

Billy squirmed for a minute and then froze, shrinking, staring intently at the edge of his bed and an old beer can, gaze unwavering. Breathing deep and trembling, he gasped as he watched from above Steve kicking him hard in the groin; looking down at him and laughing as he staggered to regain composure, whilst Steve pulled on his hair bringing him to his knees before him. There Billy started to see… something… But he flattened it and it went blank.

_“Still can’t see it? LOOK.”_

It was like Billy was in a maze now, turning corners through this memory, guided by an almost reptilian hatred for himself that was walking him to his destination, dragging him on a leash with his hand still glued to his fucking cock. His next stop on the journey: Steve below him, bleeding and feral, lashing out to hit him over and over and Billy keeping him pinned, not going anywhere. Every hit he landed, every time he writhed beneath him fed his rage and the power of his…

The word was gone. Blanked out again.

_“You’re not even fucking trying. The answer is here asshole. What did you feel huh? What were you feeling when he hit you? When he pressed right against you? What was going on in that body? Pay attention.”_

Back again. Everytime he got close to that part of his body his mind would throw a fit again. But he remembered… he was…

Billy ripped his hand away from his cock in alarm and rejection.

_“Are you getting it now shithead?”_

 

He was… hard. The whole fucking time. He remembered noticing it. Oh fuck. Billy heaved in the present as he recalled how fucking good it felt being hit in the very base of his subconscious, and how erect he was.

How did I fucking forget this?! Why is my memory so… fucking messed up? It literally just happened! Why can’t I remember? Why did I forget??

_“You enjoyed the fight Billy. You enjoyed what he was doing from the outset. He kicked you in the fucking balls and you fucking loved it. You can’t fucking remember because you don’t want to. Because this was a bad thing boy, a ‘traumatic’ event or whatever. And guess what? You were turned on by the entire experience.”_

Billy shook his head firmly in denial, stripping completely. He grabbed some old wet wipes and set upon intensely cleaning up his sin. It wasn’t clean enough. He could still see it - the memory of the twisted, involuntary pleasure. Fuck. The voice was still taunting him as he grabbed some dirty underwear from under his makeshift mattress and climbed into them. Smoking again, he started to powerclean the trailer. Distract. That always worked with his dad. Distract. Clean. Get it all fucking clean.

Billy scrubbed, bleached and scoured like somehow it would erase the assault. Throwing rubbish and his old belongings without thinking into trash bags. It was all the same; all fucking garbage. Despite his best efforts the ghostly owner of the voice seemed to trail it’s phantasmal tongue up his neck causing him to shiver, and Billy could feel it’s nonexistent breath in his ear.

_“Try and push me away all you want, it won’t work. You haven’t seen the best bits yet…”_

Crushing cans under his bare feet and flattening boxes for disposal, tears still stung his eyes as tunnel vision pushed and flung him back to Steve standing over him with that fucking hard-on being buried and ground into the concrete floor. _Did Steve know then?_ Billy found himself thinking as he tried to hunt for cleaner, non cum/blood stained clothes. Somehow Steves assessment of him was orbiting around his head on a loop and he could feel the pressure and dominance of being pinned to the floor as he screamed in anguish, despite how active he was keeping himself. He was still fucking hard.

He tried to slip into some old filthy jeans he found shoved behind the driving seat, and as he did he was forced to endure the final moment.

Shit.

It hit like a punch in the gut and a taser to his groin.

The memory surged through him. He had been pressed against Steve ready to kill the bastard when something in Steve’s expression had changed.

_“There it is, you feel that? You see that? Watch where his gaze goes Billy, watch closely.”_

Billy, one leg in his trousers, the other clutching his head, watched again disconnected from himself as Steve and He both shared a stain of red across the cheeks. Observed with horror as Steve looked with Billy at the evidence of his illness buried into the others abdomen. Reluctantly he forced himself to take in Steve’s wicked smile and darkening eyes. His fear of imminent death replaced with triumph. He knew. He found the weakness. His weakness. That was it.

It was all Billy.

Billy made this happen.

He didn’t even bother finishing to dress himself. It was all the confirmation Billy had ever needed that there was something unmistakably and unforgivably wrong with him. It was nothing Billy ever did to Steve that made him do it. It was just him; his blatant and obvious desire to be decimated that lured the man’s hands into his jeans. It was _he_ that forced it. If he wasn’t turned on, he would have won, if he wasn’t broken it wouldn’t have happened.

Steve forced him to climax against his will, crying and shaking against the wall… But Billy had driven him to it.

Curling his arms around himself, he lay there numb, stubbing the cigarette out on his abdomen and holding it down long enough that he had to hiss through the pain.

 _“This was your fault. All of it, everything that has_ **_ever_ ** _happened was your fault. You’re broken Billy, you’re sick. You attract this; you twisted his arm into doing this and you came in his hand Billy. It’s just your effect on people. You bring out their evil because you are evil: ‘out of control’, ‘weak’, ‘pathetic’, ‘a bitch’, ‘a dog’. All Steve did was give you what you wanted right? You’d jacked off to this shit yesterday. Anyone else wouldn’t have cum Billy, people don’t do that in this situation, but this is your perversion. Monster.”_

Billy shuddered, curled over on himself and despite his age, gripped his bloodied and sticky hands over his ears like a kid as if somehow it would stop his condemnation.

 _“What kind of freak gets turned on by having the shit kicked out of them huh? If you didn’t have this sickness it would have just been a fight. If you weren’t a fucking fag, Steve wouldn’t have had ammo in the first place. None of this would have happened if not for you. Maybe we should thank him for revealing you. Maybe we should ask him to do it again? Give you such punishment it will_ ** _purge_** _the sickness out of you. Or would you still be hard and ready to fucking cum as he kills you? He probably should.”_

He felt his persecutor envelope him, their cold hands seeping through his pores so even his own embrace lost its comfort. Tears slowing as his heart went numb; iced over by his tormentors version of the truth. Feeling was for humanity and he was no human any more.

_“Or maybe… Maybe your father should. Seems fitting doesn’t it? He saw this in you before you saw it in yourself. Your aberration and debasement. In fact he tried to warn you, tried to shape you into a real fucking man… And you defied him. Cry all you want Billy, no one is gonna come to you. This shit doesn’t happen to men - not normal men. But you aren’t a normal man are you? What are you?”_

Silence. No sobbing now. No shaking now. Unfolding himself, with his jeans on now, standing slowly to look in his broken hand mirror stuck to the truck wall, his reflection shattered. He even took the time to regimently adjust his hair, stroking his hand down his sculpted chest and abdomen slowly. His expression neutral and empty.

_“What are you Billy?”_

 

“An atrocity. I am damaged goods. I am defective.”

  
  


* * *

 

 

 

“Jesus Christ” Steve choked as he dropped to the floor, adrenaline ebbing enough to allow his injured leg to scream at him for attention.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck!”_. He clutched his leg that was now bleeding heavily beneath him. He was a mess; covered in blood, sweat and spit and everything hurt more than he thought it could. This was too much, he thought, clutching his mouth as waves of nausea rolled over him. All he could think about was the pain in his goddamn leg and his slightly crushed windpipe.

Dustin rushed over to help him, but Steve watched as he paused beside him and moved more cautiously. He apprehensively reached a hand out, but it looked to Steve like the guy would bolt, similarly to the way a startled deer would if it noticed something rustling in the long grass, so he tried to make no sudden movements. This confused him in spite of the pain he was in. Neither said anything, Dustin couldn’t meet Steves eyes, but the pulsing ache from his body nullified his concern. He could hear the sirens coming skidding in, and in a daze he gingerly accepted Dustin’s hand, who winced as soon as he took it. Struggling to stand as an ambulance and two police cars came to a sudden halt in front of them, he observed through puzzled eyes as Dustin had to pull his hand away from his. Watched as he wiped it on his baggy tie-dye shirt like Steve was contaminated.

What the fuck?

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t for the life of him understand his friends reactions. The police took a back bench and arranged to take statements at the hospital considering Steve needed medical attention, and fast. The paramedics surrounded him and did the usual, quizzing him about the pain and what had happened, cutting off the lower half of his jeans to get at the stab wound. Holy hell, that’s bad. Steve almost passed out upon the sight of it.

“It’s a clean wound Mr Harrington, no jagged edges or serious tearing of muscle. A minor artery has been hit and some nerve endings severed so we have to get you to a hospital immediately. Can you walk?”

Steve bewildered, nodded, and with the help of one of the paramedic team and Dustin, he made it to the back of the ambulance. Strong painkillers administered and with his leg dressed in temporary sutures, Steve reclined on the ambulance bed gripping his head. He wanted to cry from the pain but he would never show that to Dustin. He couldn’t. It simply wasn’t what Steve did. The ambulance staff left him in the back secure and settled in the front ready to begin the journey to the hospital, the partition window closed.

Dustin waited for the noisy vehicle to get into motion before muttering under his breath “What are you going to tell the cops?”

Steve peered out from under a hand, _thank god, he speaks._ “Nothing,” he drawled.

“Nothing? You have to tell them something dude, you got fucking stabbed man, your neck is bleeding, you are covered in injuries. You can’t just say nothing.” Dustin said firmly.

Steve sighed aloud, “I guess I will just say a fight got out of hand, don’t know who the guy was that attacked me and that I am not pressing charges.”

Silence reigned.

“ _What?”_ Steve pressed, this was all getting very, very weird.

“Nothing man.” Dustin answered, dismissive and cutting. A clear lie.

Steve waited for a moment shifting uncomfortably inside before prying again, “What’s gotten into you? You’ve gone all fucking… weird.”

“What’s gotten into _me?_ What’s gotten into you more like.” Dustin snapped back, probably faster than he had meant to.

Steve flinched, “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” he asked angrily, eyes weighing up Dustin’s expression.

“Seriously? Dude. You were an _asshole_. Not like ‘normal Steve Harrington level asshole’ but full blown bastard.”

Temper rising despite the numbing effects of the medication, he retorted with a raised voice “Hey! In case it has escaped your fucking attention, I’m the one who’s been fucking stabbed!” Steve dramatically gestured to his leg that was still bleeding through the dressing. 

“I can see that, but like…” Dustin paused, trying to consider his words carefully, “None of this would’ve happened had you kept your fucking mouth shut. I fucking told you man, I pointed him out to you but did you stop? Did you fuck.” He held his curly haired head in his hand, shaking it disappointed. “Look I know we were stoned as all hell, but what on earth possessed you to say that shit Steve? What went through your stupid head?”

Steve had never heard Dustin speak like this to him before. He was taken aback. Shaken and exasperated he tried to understand why this guy was actually _defending_ Hargrove, but he simply couldn’t.

“You kidding me right now? Fuck this. I just said what I had to. He would have fucking smashed my head in. You saw him, you know what he has done to me in the past. He had me pinned to the goddamn ground, just like before man. I couldn’t fucking _move_!” Steve’s body was shaking now with rage.

“That’s not the fucking point you complete tool. Either you are a total idiot or you have some _serious_ issues regarding his sexuality. You just _had_ to go there. Why?! Why didn’t you shut up? He was going to walk away, don’t you get that? He waited to hear what you were gonna say because of course he fucking did - you would’ve done too. Why is it such a big bloody deal to you who he fucks? Why does his fucking choice in clothes piss you off _that_ much?! You wouldn’t react like that to anyone else. Or would you? You fucking homophobic or some shit?”

“I… No, I just -”

“You’re not eh? You tore him _apart_ for that, almost _exclusively_ for that. You went too goddamn far Steve.”

“Why are you fucking defending him? He has almost killed me like twice, TWICE Dustin?! Surely it doesn’t matter what I fucking say?” Steve’s face was now screwed up in disbelief and annoyance.

“You don’t fucking get it do you?” Dustin sighed, frustrated, shaking his head and leaning it on the back of the ambulance wall.

“What is there to get?”

“You just _don’t say that shit! Ever. How did you expect him to fucking react you imbecile? You don’t fucking stoop to their level!_ And then… the fucking end... _Jesus Christ_ Steve.”

Dustin was almost shaking with anger himself at this point. His extreme reaction stunned Steve who was now incensed. The confusion making it worse. His friend was right, he didn’t bloody get it and he couldn’t understand why he had to. The mention of… how he finished the fight - how he saved his own life - had him rubbing his fingertips together unconsciously, looking at his hand like it was foreign.

“Do you even realise what you _did??”_ Dustin exclaimed, aghast.

Steve’s mind was trapped in a knot that he couldn’t for the life of him unravel. Gears grinding against each other and jamming, unable to turn - unwilling to. 

Dustin leaned over to him, “You fucking -” he glanced at the ambulance partition, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper, “ _that… that was sexual assault, man, sexual_ **_fucking_ ** _assault!”_

Steve recoiled instantly, completely thrown off guard. In the back of his mind he knew what Dustin said to be true, but if that was true then…

“What the fuck are you talking about?! No. No it -”

“Cut the bullshit Steve, I just watched my best fucking friend publically force a grown man, in tears, to cum against his will with a smile on his face, laughing as he did.”

Steve froze, staring at his hands. The conviction in Dustin’s mortified eyes forced his conscience to grip his insides until he felt like he was going to be sick again. He hadn’t… He couldn’t have… not like that? The angry stoner was forcing morality onto Steve until he buckled under the weight of his guilt. This couldn’t be what Dustin said it was. It simply had to be untrue.

Steve floundered, anger overriding the crime.

“Yeah… Well… No. No.” He was holding his head in his hands fighting himself, “Shit! No.”

“You could have just done what any normal motherfucker would have done. You could have kicked him as hard as you could, punched him there, punched him in the goddamn face - I couldn’t give a flying fuck in that regard, but you fucking didn’t did you. You grabbed his fucking dick and made him fucking…”

Dustin was red faced, tears in his eyes from his friends betrayal, unable to look at him. Steve had never felt more like a monster. He was going numb across his body. He tried to defend himself.

“It’s not as bad as you think.” He almost pleaded, knowing his one and only real friendship was on the line, “I… people do this all the time. People grab people’s… junk all the time. I mean… it’s happened to me plenty and that was no big deal?” Steve’s voice was wavering.

Dismay and despair moved Dustin to look at Steve under his curly bangs, leaning over himself “No Steve, it isn’t normal and it isn’t okay, and besides this wasn’t just grabbing someone, you forced shit out of him… Can you imagine if that was a _girl?!_ ”

It had never, ever been put that way to him before. His world trembled beneath him. “But… that shit doesn’t apply to guys… If we are hard then it means we want it right? There is no crime if a guy… cums. That’s just sex right?” Distressed tears burned behind his own eyes meanwhile Dustins narrowed before widening, eyebrows up in the fucking ceiling.

“Shit, Steve.” He murmured, still wide eyed as he put the pieces together in his head. Steve watched, a bit startled, as his friend lay a hand on his. “Fucking hell” He said under his breath sadly, looking at the ground. “What do you mean?” Dustin’s voice was stripped of its anger, replaced now with concern.

“It’s nothing, seriously it’s nothing.” Steve said in panic. He felt trapped. He didn’t want to look at this shit. He couldn’t admit his guilt without then considering the guilt of others. No.

“Talk to me, Steve. This isn’t nothing.” He was deadly sincere.

“It’s just…” Steve began looking at the floor, “This is how sex has kinda… always gone? For a long time that is. Some fucking girl would just want me. I would have to smile and do The Thing, because if I didn’t they would have some kind of a tantrum. If i couldn’t get hard, they would say shit. Say that I am no fucking man. Say that I am shit in bed. Whine because they put effort into their appearance, or shaved or whatever and I would just… do it.”

Dustin said nothing but gripped his hand.

“I had to be that guy, Steve fucking Harrington y’know? Never had a choice in the matter, cannot slip out of it, and Steve Harrington is a king. Steve fucks. Steve is okay with anything. Steve doesn’t give a shit. Like… I remember this girl would just always put her hands down my pants just to get me hard, and then she would run off giggling to her friends like it was some game. The guys all said I was _lucky_ , asked how I did it. How I got them so interested.”

Dustin grunted, disgusted under his breath. He knew he had been culpable of similar reactions as a teen but he had _never_ considered it from the other side of the table. Never considered the trap that had been built for people like Steve.

“I had this girlfriend right, after highschool. She was always there, everywhere I went. I dunno if you remember her? Sharon? Red hair always straight and cut off in a bob, dark eyeliner and a choker?”

Dustin nodded, confused, “Yeah, I thought you guys were good? You clung to her, like you stopped hanging out with any of us. It was kinda annoying really.”

Steve shook his head.

“She wouldn’t let me have friends. She used to get jealous of all of you. If I spoke to a girl she would always threaten to leave or… do shit she thought would keep me or get me focusing on her.”

“What things?”

Steve shuffled uncomfortably, clouded with shame. “Like, shit like today. She would just walk up to me and grab me, make me… y’know… and would tell me that I needed her and loved her. Sometimes her friends would be there, they would laugh and joke about how ‘whipped’ I was. I used to laugh with it? I mean, this was just what happened.”

Dustin kicked the side of his chair, but having spotted Steves reaction, he reigned it in and told him to continue.

“I couldn’t escape her and I had no reason to? People would always be saying that I was so lucky for getting some, for having ‘that ass’, I don’t know. I just forced myself to like it. That is what you gotta do right? You are supposed to want to fuck girls. To enjoy it every time. But I didn’t. Some mornings I would wake up and find her… going down on me, trying to get me hard. I was too tired to really say anything and if I did she would just say I was pathetic ‘What kind of man are you? Don’t you wanna fuck me? Why don’t you wanna fuck me? Is there something wrong with you?’. I would kinda just lay there whilst she did what she wanted, whilst she fucking… rode me.”

Steve gagged at the recollection and Dustin, eyebrows raised again gripped his hands into tight fists. “You were with her for like 2 years? Jesus Christ Steve.” He shook his head.

“Look it is not that fucking simple okay? I had no one else, I wasn't allowed anyone else. My parents… Well you know what they were like, just would walk past when she would go through these outbursts, would tell me to quit letting her ruin their furniture or to ‘take it somewhere else’.  What little friends I had were just annoyed at me for being ‘obsessed’ with her. I did try and tell this guy, I mean, it was Tommy of all fucking people but I tried. He kept saying how kinky it all was and how he wished he could get in on that. There wasn’t an issue, I was just overreacting. I was hard so I must have wanted it and wanted her. Whenever she came near me I would try and force it to happen because if I didn’t she would get angry and make it happen. And it just kept happening. I don’t think, since the Upside Down, that I had sex or whatever in a way that I actually… wanted or liked. It would make me feel sick. But I can’t tell anyone that shit, I am a fucking guy - I am Steve Harrington. I couldn’t cry because I didn’t want to have sex dude.”

“No Steve… Like… I don’t want to say the words, I really don’t but…” Dustin gripped Steve’s hand tightly, his heart aching for this guy who was still not getting it. “That… was rape.”

 

Steve felt tears fall down his cheeks, but he shook his head violently. “No. Rape is a thing that happens to girls. Where you kick and scream. Where shit goes… in… You don’t… _cum_ during rape. You don’t get hard during rape. Rape doesn’t _happen_ to guys.”

“She forced you to have sex with her over and over, for years, when you didn’t want it. What else would you call it?” Dustin said, genuinely concerned over Steves conflict.

“ _Nothing!”_ He snapped back, desperate, “That is just _sex! OKAY? I didn’t get fucking raped, fuck this!”_

“Listen to me, please Steve, calm down!”

“This isn’t fucking _real!_ ” Steve was freaking out now. “If that happened that means _I am weak, I am pathetic, I let it happen over and fucking over again. I came to it. I fucking… I didn’t stop her! What kind of a fucking man am I then huh?_ **_Tell me!_ ** _”_

Dustin stared at his friend squarely in their bloodshot, broken eyes. “You are _strong_ dude.”

“Like _fuck_ am I strong. I could have flattened her, could have done… literally _anything_ but I didn’t. Couldn’t defend against her or the others, couldn’t defend against fucking _Billy Hargrove_ … I am weak as all hell y’hear?” He hadn’t realised he had gripped Dustin by the collar of his ridiculous shirt, pulling him right to his face.

“You didn’t fucking know what was going on was bad Steve! If you don’t know that, how the fuck can you defend or even turn anyone down, how… how do you even start? You have somehow believed all your life that you have to put out to girls, that you cannot fucking feel, that men cannot get hurt, that you cannot show discomfort and somehow the King will hold his throne providing he finds no issue in anything. Dude, can you hear me in there?” Dustin was shaking a little bit in fear; he had never seen Steve like this ever, and after having watched exactly what Steve could do to a person as strong and manic as Billy, he knew to fear him. But he needed Steve to hear him. “It’s not your fucking fault. None of it was. But this thing with Billy… This was. He will be going through the same shit you were. Probably sitting somewhere, freaking out and blaming himself like you were and _still are_ all these years later. I understand that you didn’t see the problem… That you were so goddamn desensitised to this fucking bullshit that you didn’t think twice, and i _know_  this guy tried to bloody kill you, but you _have_ to make it right.”

Steve wavered and noticed what he was doing. He released Dustin, looking down, bent over in humiliation, his body riding wave after wave of revelations. He was right. Of course he was right, he was _always_ right about the important fucking things. He was starting to get it but it was tearing his whole universe apart. He had forgotten about the ambulance they were in, the gaping wound in his leg and whatever started the fight. All he could think of was his internal pain. And now Dustin was making him think of Billy’s.

“What… what do I do?” he asked, voice weak.

“Well, I guess you have to apologise.”

“ _Apologise?! He will fucking try to kill me, again!”_

“To be honest… that is understandable, but plan. It still has to be done. Make sure you are safe, and say sorry dude. You never know, he may say sorry too. If you don’t then you are no better than Sharon and those other bitches, y’hear? You are my best fucking friend Steve. I know there is goodness in your heart but I have watched for years as you disconnected from almost all relationships and became this cold, pragmatic asshole. I _know_ you are in there under it all. I had _no_ idea any of this had happened. None. I am so sorry I couldn’t have been there for you earlier. But if you do not do this, you will be trading in your humanity for the comfort of denial. Yeah he may hit you, yeah he may fight you. He may scream bloody murder and make your life hell. Yet you still have to do it. I will not forgive you if you don’t, man, especially now you know how this shit hurts after.”

Steve said nothing, mouth shut as the ambulance rounded the corner finally to the hospital.

“You… are gonna need time to process this shit. I am not the best person for this, I know that, but I know that this… has affected you badly. And I know you have your other shit too. You have _problems_ man, you have survived some heavy shit and it is going to take time to heal. I am sorry it all came out now. Maybe it is a good thing it has? I don’t know. Just… try not to dwell on it right now. As soon as you are well enough to walk comfortably, get your ass to Billy’s and apologize. Then get a therapist or something, because this… goes deep.”

Dustin leaned for a moment against Steve, who had since gone rigid - still not acknowledging him in the slightest and he sighed sadly, now feeling guilty himself that he had to play midwife to Steve as the tip of his trauma punched its way out of his chest.

 

“I didn’t fucking know. I didn’t know. I… This isn’t real, none of this is real” Steve repeated to himself over and over, detached from the world around him. Ignoring the ambulance staff opening the doors, trying to talk to him and pull him out on the stretcher. “This isn’t fucking real. That didn’t happen. It couldn’t be. I wasn’t.”

Dustin watched, following him sadly and almost protectively as his friend went into meltdown. It all made sense, but he couldn’t bear it; couldn’t begin to process what his friend was going through in that moment. He felt evil for telling Steve the truth, for forcing him to look at his shit. But what if it wasn’t Billy? What if he had done that to a girl… He would have been arrested… And he wouldn’t have even understood what he did wrong.

The doctors rushed to meet them at the hospital entrance, assessing the damage, the police were already there waiting, but Steve was almost incoherent. They presumed he was delirious and went to move him into surgery, pumping him full of more medication to keep him calm for the procedures. All Dustin could do was be there. Bite back his emotions and heartache for Steve, and wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. God.
> 
> Okay. My primary objective was to highlight how easy it is to become desensitised to sexual violence when you have experienced it a lot, and no one has challenged it or told you what it is. As we see with Billy in S2 of ST, his abusive behaviour is an abusive cycle making its full way round. Abuse is all he knows (from what we gather) so that horrible nasty energy is all he puts out in to the world, mimicking the abuse he has suffered. Steve though, he is unaware any of what he has experienced was bad, or that he even could have a reaction to it. The sexism during these decades (and still present) for teens to conform to this idea of what a man should be forces them down paths they never should be down. It also guides the hand of the women in their lives to treat them like these indestructible, sex toys that have to be into anything they want to do because thats how teenagers and men are like right? They just wanna have sex all the damn time? You get em hard, it's fair game? Because let me be clear, girls are capable of this, and they DO fuck with guys like this. 
> 
> Trying to hone in one how trapped Steve has been and the contrast between Hargrove and he. Billy is free in his rebellion and rage, because he knows what happened. Steve does not. He has to be the prep. Has to be the king Steve Harrington. He can't have problems, can't feel, can't react, can't... exist... outside of this cage. He is top of the social ladder at his school, almost a man. He has to want to fuck girls, has to enjoy being touched up by girls, has to keep smiling through his fucked act up everyday. He has to conform, though all and sundry look at him like he is this free creature who rules everything. He is far from it.
> 
> All this feeds his loathing for Billy, whose explosiveness in his life shocks him into a reality he has been avoiding. It shatters his mask and his act. He hates how Billy can just fucking feel. Hates how Billy gets to be who he is, hates that he gets to exist outside of what is expected of him. The guy gets to get fucking drunk, wear flamboyent clothes, be dramatic, be angry, be in pain, be... anything. Steve has to be Steve. No exceptions. 
> 
> So when the final moment comes in the last chapter... Where he sexually assaults Billy and enjoys it, that comes from two places. Rage and denial. What he did was wrong. It was fucking bad regardless of what Billy did, it is still bad. But in learning that what he did was wrong, that must mean what he survived was bad, means he actually survived shit, means he actually was unhappy and hurting and in pain. A forbidden and foreign concept. And I want to sink that knife in so bad because lack of knowledge, insight and awareness about these things creates these issues in people who would otherwise be innocent. If you don't highlight abuse when you see it, dont go "hey... this isn't right, are you okay? that was X, i am sorry but it was X" and enforce the morality for those who are struggling, then for some, what is to stop them repeating it? 
> 
> Thanks to anyone who reads the notes, I know they are really long but they are essentially a mind dump - a cup of tea and a fat spliff at the end of writing. I value you all as always.
> 
> Kit


	6. The Guilt Trip.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month has passed since the fight and Steve's revelations. Steve is not okay.
> 
> Sunk deep into depression fuelled self-neglect, he is consumed by his guilt and shame. Steve has finally hit rock bottom and he has no intention of coming out. It's a damn fucking good thing he has Dustin who will not let his best friend sink further into the abyss. If only they could see eye to eye.
> 
> HEAVY CONTENT WARNING: discussion of R, SU, SH.

Steve stared at Fudge. The cats tatty ginger coat was just coming out in clumps now as Hawkins cooked under the full force of a killer heatwave. Poor sodding thing, Steve thought to himself, reaching over and pulling out few tufts to help speed the molt. Lounging in nothing but his pants and socks, Steve was sprawled over the sofa, sweating and drinking bottle after bottle of Coca Cola, blunt in hand. It wasn’t his finest hour, in fact this entire bloody month had been a goddamn disaster. And it was all his fucking fault. He groaned as he moved to grab a packet of M&M’s and rolled his eyes as Fudge leapt into the air. This damn cat was more skittish than he was and it humoured him, especially when he was feeling as bitter as he was in this moment.

He had essentially resigned himself to just rot in a corner; force himself into a complete collapse because that is what fucking assholes like him deserved. Steve wasn’t social at the best of times, but he had unplugged his home phone and bolted his door; bills and the occasional card lying neglected on the ‘Welcome Home’ doormat. He had only moved from the sofa to feed his stupid cat, cool down in the shower and put food in his body. Everything that had previously got him through with a pained smile had since lost their touch. Steve couldn’t give a shit about any of it anymore.

His routine had been blown to pieces and he had zero intention of building it up again. What was the point? He no longer recognised himself. The creature in the mirror was no man, wasn’t Steve… It was someone else. No - some _thing_ else. He had somehow kidded himself for years that ‘Steve Harrington’ was real, that he was a good person and an all round nice guy; convincing himself that he was strong and confident by celebrating the nightmares of going tooth and claw against demon dogs from hell to defend a group of shitty kids, because they at least left him feel brave.

But now, this was challenged.

The person who looked at him in the mirror with their unshaved face, stained body and greasy, unkempt hair deserved nothing. Not one fucking thing. The demon lurching by the sink wasn’t strong at all; they were a fucking victim _and_ an abuser, plagued with memories of giving in and submitting to a fucking bitch over and over again whilst he grinned and tried to act like it was all fucking ok and worse - that he _liked it_. It was times like these he missed the Upside Down. At least there was honour in losing to a monster bigger and stronger than he, in-fact it was almost admirable.

Some days, naked on the sofa and hidden from the world, he would for reasons unknown, try jacking off to none other than Billy fucking Hargrove kicking his ass, praying it could take him away from the disgusting recollection of his fake moans as that… _cunt_ took what she wanted from him, but it did nothing except make him more angry that he was trying so desperately to imagine more dramatic, brutal and bloody traumas to cum to rather than… any of what he had just discovered.

To be honest, it had nothing much to do with Billy. He was just a vessel for something Steve could survive. Even if he was on the floor at the mans feet, bleeding and almost dead as he was in high school, he would have still been _heroic._ It was _Billy_ who gave him that elevation amongst the kids and his old friends, not he. Taking that hit and fighting against him made Steve a hero, not some ordinary asshole. _I owe him a thank-you and a fucking gift basket,_ Steve regularly thought to himself, alone in the stagnant murk of his self neglect.

He often thought of Hargrove now. It was fucking weird. He spent so long trying to burn this guy out of his mind, hiding from the images and sensations he would experience whenever he relived that asskicking, that he now felt confused about how much he would cling to Billy in his head. The bigger and scarier Sharon got now Dustin had placed the word ‘rape’ next to his experiences, the more important it was for Steve to focus only on Billy, and he was pretty damn sure that made him the devil. Every time he saw that stupid, cocky grin on his younger self whilst he just fucked and was fucked, he would return to Hargrove. Gagging as he remembered how going near those bodies made him feel, but he fucking did it anyway didn’t he?

Jesus Christ.

It wasn’t even specific in nature. Sometimes, as he barely held himself up in the shower, hand clasped cruelly around his dick with a finger in his ass, Steve would try and extend his abuse of Billy; force him to his knees again, hit him across the face over and over until those cheeks were almost purple and sodden with tears, then choke him out. The images would get dark - so dark Steve would flinch from himself, but they were there and the more he gave into his decomposition, the less he cared.

Caring hurt.

But there were days that he would find himself replacing Sharon’s face/body (and any of the girls for that matter besides possibly Nancy), with Billy’s. It made it liveable somehow, tricking his brain into picturing Hargrove waking him up that way by pinning him down with a strong arm, his long hair tumbling over his shoulders as his husky voice would ask “What do you mean ‘You don’t wanna fuck me’ huh?”. Some of Steves best orgasms recently had been to those kind of scenes. Jacking off just seemed to be the only fucking thing that would let him _feel,_ so he dedicated most of his day to it; the sheets on the sofa where he now relegated himself to were stained and surrounded by used tissues.

He was disgusting. Steve wasn’t gonna kid himself, but the blight of remembrance and acceptance was one he felt there was no cure for so he had just given up. Being pretty sure he was the only one on the entire planet to feel this fucking way, he saw no reason to reach out. Who would understand? Sometimes Steve would spend hours watching TV shows and movies that had rape scenes in it just to figure out how he was supposed to feel or act, maybe even get some sense of validation, but it made him feel worse every time. For one thing, the obvious gender issue aside, he never behaved like those on TV did during OR after they were raped. He never kicked, yelled or screamed; in-fact he struggled to remember times he flat out ever said no or did anything in that regard. He just _honestly_ thought it was normal. What was worse was how in these scenes the abuse these girls endured were always harrowing, at the hands of some asshole whilst they were viciously attacked until the victim cried, and the _only_ fucking film he had seen where a guy had been raped was dressed up as some kind of comedy - just an excuse for Bruce Willis to go hack someone to pieces with a samurai sword. No. Steve was a joke; he wasn’t being _good_ or respectable in his suffering, he was just being depraved and a coward. All anyone else would see is something twisted and wrong. And **_shit_ ** he had done this to Billy and all.

The guilt choked him each time he remembered Dustin’s horror.

Fucking hell. Weak, pathetic AND evil. Goddamnit.

It had now come to a point where Steve wanted to die, but he just didn’t have the balls to kill himself. The thought crossed his mind daily like a wasp buzzing around his brain, but he simply couldn’t exert the energy it would take to commit to it. So instead he would just decay until it just happened on its own. Or until he and Fudge were cooked alive in this sweatbox.

Still shovelling handfuls of candy in his mouth, he watched Chandler berate Joey for the hundredth time that week. Fudge yowled at his feet but Steve did not respond, choosing instead to just stare at the TV until the doorbell rang and he almost shot out of his skin, once again throwing the poor fucking cat into a full nervous breakdown. Steve hunched over and rigid like a disturbed animal, shot his eyes straight to the door. He said and did nothing, just stared. He had grown very wary/tired of people; successfully avoided almost all human contact for a month by taking time out of work and lying that he was staying at his parents in Florida to recover. It was a good plan; the only people who ever came to the door were cold-callers and they all fucked off after thirty seconds of no noise, so all he had to do was stay still and wait.

The bell rang again.

What the fuck?

Steve moved cautiously and silently to the window, crumbs and tissues tumbling off of him as, taking a long toke on the spliff, he peered behind the blinds. _SHIT!_ It was Dustin. What the hell was he doing back in Hawkins? He was supposed to be at some fucking film festival for a few weeks in New York!

Swinging around, Steve pressed his back to the wall, chest heaving. He felt like he was having a full fucking blown anxiety attack. Oh god, he couldn’t let Dustin see him this way. His friend would kick his pathetic ass so fast. Shit. Fuck. Okay.

 _Let’s just pretend I am not here… He will have to go away soon enough,_ Steve thought to himself, now suddenly _very_ aware of how disgusting his house had become. _"Je_ _sus Christ Steve, what the fuck did you do?!"_ he seethed under his breath. There was a pause that extended across all bloody time and space and then Fudge started yowling. Steve scowled at the cat; pleading with it and trying desperately to throw things at it so it would shut the fuck up.

Of course it didn’t. Stupid… fucking cat.

“Hey, Steve, you there??” Dustin asked, concerned, banging on the door now.

Steve didn’t move a goddamn muscle, frozen against the wall, sweat dripping off of him.

“Look, I can hear Fudge. Asshole or no, I know you wouldn’t leave that fucking cat for longer than a day, I _know_ you are in there. Let me in.”

 _Shit. FUCK!_ He cursed inwardly as hit his head against the wall with a loud crack, instantly realising his mistake as Dustin tried to look through the window.

“I will kick this _fucking_ door down right now if you do not open up. You know I can dude and you know I will. Open. The. Door.”

Steve peeled himself away from the wall and with weighted, heavy feet, he staggered to the door, his mouth bone dry as he desperately took in all the strength he could from his joint. He unlatched the door and opened it a fraction poking his head out.

" _Jesus Christ,_ what the fuck happened to you?!” Dustin exclaimed, jaw on the floor.

“Nothing man” Steve said, his eyes squinting at the sunlight, “It’s all good,

 

* * *

 

Dustin was in shock. He had _never_ seen Steve like this. In-fact, he couldn’t be entirely sure if the guy answering the door was Steve at all. He knew Harrington was prone to moments of dramatic panic and overthinking, it was part of who he was; but Dustin knew this was different.

He could smell the house as soon as Steve opened the door and he did his best to not bury his nose in his arm to block it out. _Shit._ “‘It’s all good?’” Dustin yelled in disbelief, _"I_ _t’s all good?!_ Get out of the way douchebag.” He said firmly, lowering his voice and moving straight up to the door, towering over the creature pretending to be his friend.

“Dude, what? NO! Fuck off! Nothing’s wrong - I’m _okay_ , just back off!” Defended Steve, his face twisted with confusion and alarm as he unsuccessfully tried barricading the door to hide his body from Dustin’s keen eye.

Fuck this.

“Get out of the fucking way, _MOVE!"_

His friend was panicking now and tried to shove the door shut, but in this Dustin had him beat. He wedged his high-tops in the doorframe unflinching as Steve tried to slam it on him, and with his full body weight he forced the door open. Steve may have been older, but Dustin had grown bigger and right now Steve’s fight was not up to scratch, which was concerning. Disconcerted, he watched as his friend fell back into Dustin’s shadow, scrabbling below to pick himself up off the floor.

“Jesus _Christ Steve, what the FUCK?!"_

Dustin’s eyes stung, watering from the stench of weed, abandoned dishes and an uncleared litter tray. He moved straight to Fudge, scooping the cat up and holding it tightly to his chest to keep it calm. Fudge clung to him, burying it’s small furry head into Dustin’s neck. Kicking the post out of the way he reluctantly entered Steve’s dungeon. Something was very, _very_ wrong.

Steve was silent, body lowered and almost hunched over. His eyes were flitting all over the place, looking at all the shit across his house that he didn’t want Dustin to see. Too late. The pair stood in silence for a minute, disturbed only by Fudge’s purring as Dustin scratched it behind the ears, shhh’ing it reassuringly. When it became clear Steve wasn’t going to say anything, Dustin lowered the cat gently onto the floor where it snaked around his legs.

“What…” Dustin exclaimed, pausing to wave his arms and gesturing to the chaos around him, “Happened?”.

Steve tried to straighten and fell back against the wall, he laughed weakly with tears in his bloodshot eyes. “Nothing man, nothing at all.” He replied, unable to do anything but laugh and cry.

Dustin didn’t have a fucking clue what to do. This was _insane._ He wanted to punch Steve for the state Fudge was in, for the state _he_ was in, but something told him that Steve had been doing that to himself all this time. At a total loss for words, he turned away from his hysterical, bordering-on-delirius friend and asked “When was the last time you fed Fudge?”.

Steve laughed again and Dustin heard a small crash from behind him. He didn’t look back - he couldn’t. “I dunno, pretty sure it was last night? Wait no. Yesterday morning? I think?”.

Dustin shook his head, appalled, making his way over to the cats bowl. It was covered in flies. It had definitely been longer than two days. Trying not to gag, he scraped the remains into the garbage disposal and rooted around to try and find some fresh food for Fudge. There was none. “Where is Fudge’s food? Have you seriously run _out?"._

He didn’t give Steve a chance to respond and instead went into the freezer, pulling out some ground beef and shoving it into the microwave to defrost. Silence reigned, but he noticed Steve sneak away to roll another joint behind him. Dustin shook his head, groaned, and turned around to pull the smoke away from him.

“No. You have had enough.”

Steve looked stunned, “What do you mean, ‘had enough’? Dude, give it back.”. He made a grab for the joint.

Dustin moved it right over his head, beyond annoyed and now glaring coldly. “ _I mean,_ you are already fucking blazed and a complete wreck. You gotta sober up, so no more drugs.”

Lunging at him and almost jumping for the weed, the man seemed pained and scared of Dustin’s sincerity. Dustin moved out the way and watched as Steve tripped over a trash bag and fell over. He watched as his friends body shook, and noted the change in tone as he started to get angry.

* * *

 

 

Steve was livid. Who the fuck did Dustin think he was? Barging into his house, making him feel shit about Fudge and taking his fucking smoke?! Bullshit. Fucking bullshit. He stumbled as his hand broke through the trash bag he tried to push himself up from, but he paid it no heed and just wiped the mess on his boxers.

“Give it _back_ asshole! You fucking hypocrite! You’re the biggest junkie I fucking know, always on that shit. Who are _you_ to tell me what to fucking do?!” Steve’s body shook with emotion as he stared at his friend that was looking down at him like he was garbage.

“Junkie?” Dustin massaged his temples, eyebrows knotted as he bit back venom, voice still level and firm. “I am a _stoner_ Steve, a stoner. I get high when I fucking want to, right? And then I put that shit down and move on. _You_ are a junkie - _you are an addict."._

Steve’s agitation was obvious now, straightening up to look Dustin straight in the eye, his lips curled. _"M_ _e? A Junkie? Do you even know me?"_ He seethed through gritted teeth, driving his finger over and over into his chest. “I am no fucking junkie. Fuck you. This is bullshit. I am just having a hard fucking time and it helps. I have a fucking _job,_ I have a _life,_ I have _friends,_ I am not an _addict._ Addicts don’t look like this-“

Dustin watched in despair as Steve couldn’t quite see what he was seeing. He rolled his eyes and left Steve standing, trembling and swearing behind him, scraping some of the defrosted meat into a newly cleaned bowl for Fudge who dived at it. He said nothing but The Addict continued.

“You told me, you told me you can’t get addicted to weed. You would be all ‘there’s nothing addictive in weed, you can’t get hooked on it and that’s why I smoke it.’ I don’t do any other fucking drug man, I don’t take pills or whatever. I only smoke up. There is nothing to be addicted to and you are here all high and fucking mighty, telling me I have a fucking drug problem. What the _hell?!"_

Steve watched as his friend leaned over the kitchen counter and shook his head. This pissed him off more; completely unable to process his friends reactions, he read it as condescension instead. Dustin eventually spoke, voice bristling with anger as he grabbed a bin liner and started throwing stuff into it. “It’s not the _weed_ you are addicted to asshole. It’s what it provides. If it wasn’t weed it would be something else. You aren’t smoking to have a good fucking time anymore, this is… what’s the term?” Dustin paused to think and continued “self medicating. You are trying to bury and solve your shit by being too stoned to bloody feel. That is addiction.”.

Steve could hardly think straight. His pride was knocked and he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, from Dustin of all people. All he wanted was a joint. That was literally it, and now the fucker was cleaning his house like Steve didn’t know how to bloody do it himself; like Steve was incompetent and useless.

He stormed over to Dustin and pushed him away from the kitchen surface hard, grabbing the bag out of his hand and without saying a word, started throwing stuff in it indiscriminately.

 

* * *

 

Dustin backed off as the animal pushed him away, and watched with arms folded as he made a point of doing the cleaning. Steve was acting like a damn child and he couldn’t understand it. This was not who he knew at all.

He didn’t want to get into this. Truth be told he was scared for his friend, terrified for him and angry at Steve’s… comfort in this disgusting space. Steve was always one for order and control. He had to have stuff his way; his house being his temple, perfectly decorated and carefully considered. It physically hurt Dustin to see that part of his friend, which had always been one of his favourite, (albeit one of his most irritating) charms, go up in smoke.

Set on fire by Steve himself.

He had to know what was going on but he almost didn’t want to ask. The mood Steve was in was so volatile that he no longer had any idea how he would react, and Dustin had no intention of getting fucked over today. He could hold his ground; his time in the upside down a testament to this, but Dustin was more concerned about losing his best friend who by the looks of things, had lost himself.

Redirecting his attention to another part of the kitchen, he kept peering back in silence to look at Steve whilst he raged around the kitchen. The guy was dirty, evidently so. He was always so on top of his appearance that this alone was cause for concern. Steve’s body was covered in a film of sweat and painted with bruises, his stab wound healed but angry and purple. Crumbs, ash and cat fur clung to his greasy surface and Dustin looked in disgust at the pants Steve was wearing, hurriedly looked away as he realised they were stained too - just cum thankfully by the looks of things.

This was some horror movie shit right here.

What was he supposed to say? Dustin had no idea. He didn’t know that Steve was in _this_ much trouble, if he did he would have cancelled the film festival and stayed here with him, but Steve had said nothing. Just made out like he was okay and healing from his injury, going as far as to say he would be staying at his parents house. Dustin didn’t think twice when it came to believing him because Steve wasn’t a liar; he had always been so upfront about everything that Dustin simply never thought there was stuff going on beyond what he chose to tell him.

He thought long and hard whilst he rifled through old take-out cartons by the sink. Occasionally he would hear Steve kick something or swear at Fudge loudly, but Dustin tried to remain as focused as possible whilst he considered both of their options. Something big must have hit him. Dustin turned his mind back to the fight with Hargrove but he rejected it. He has seen Steve come away from bigger and bloodier battles than that like nothing had happened, smiling even, so Dustin refused to believe it was just Billy that had done this.

He then remembered the ambulance journey and froze a bit, wet cloth in hand dripping onto the floor. He had forgotten large chunks of it because he, like a fucking idiot, was still very stoned at the time, but now things floated back to him. Oh _god,_ Dustin groaned to himself, recalling what Steve had revealed to him that day. Fucking… oh jeez. Okay.

Somehow, despite having exercised as much empathy as he could muster, he couldn’t quite… understand Steve’s reaction. Or maybe he wasn’t allowing himself to understand? Dustin no longer knew. He would’ve understood if Steve had gone on a 3 day drug binge or whatever, hid away for a little bit and cried like his friends did, but he never foresaw this. Not in a million years, and certainly not from Steve. He knew what Steve had told him was _bad,_ hell, he was the one to tell him, so…

Oh shit. Dustin put the cloth down now and gripped the counter to keep him steady through the guilt. _He_ was the one that did this. Fuck.

Dustin had to interrupt the silence by turning on the coffee machine. He didn’t say anything yet; still trying to figure out how he could have done things differently with Steve in the ambulance but he couldn’t think of any alternative, because lying was _not_ an option and he owed his friend more than that. He just… this wasn’t supposed to happen.

And then of _course_ he fucking disappeared to New York for a few weeks and abandoned his friend here with that nuclear bomb.

Dustin's cheeks were burning with shame. He hadn’t done it deliberately, he just didn’t think. A voice in the back of his head reminded him that Steve wasn’t his responsibility; that Dustin had been a great friend and did what needed to be done - that ultimately this wasn’t his problem, but Dustin couldn’t take the internal voice seriously. He should have been here. It would have been different if he had checked in surely? He could have prevented all of this by keeping his mouth shut.

Despairing, he asked Steve the only thing he could come up with after almost an hour of overthinking and absent minded power cleaning.

“Coffee?”.

 

* * *

 

Steve, dripping in sweat, glanced over his shoulder. “Huh? What?” He snapped, out of confusion rather than aggression.

“Coffee. Do you want a coffee?” Dustin spelled out slowly.

Steve nodded but didn’t say a thing. He didn’t want to speak right now. Stuck in a daze, he just went into auto pilot, putting bottles and cans into bin bags, kicking laundry into a pile and trying not to vomit as he scraped weeks old food down the drain. He had no idea what was going on with his moods. Despite Dustin having come over plenty of times to his house, this time it felt different and like an invasion. He just wanted him to go away, like somehow he was a threat to something; every item he touched or cleaned left him feeling on edge and exposed, though he couldn’t begin to explain why.

Dustin was still not speaking and that left Steve feeling rejected; like he was a problem. The pressure of the silence between them crushed him, yet he couldn’t open his mouth to speak. He felt he had let his friend down in a big way, but everytime he would process a thought of this nature, his brain would rush to defend his deterioration and failure by pulling his friend apart. Steve knew that if he spoke, their friendship would be toast so he just didn’t, but it got harder to stay quiet with every second that passed.

“Did you want sugar? Steve! Sugar?”

“Yeah I guess.” He mumbles, lost in his thoughts.

His tall, curly haired friend walked over to him and handed him the cup of coffee. Steve leaned with his back against the counter, both hands caressing the mug as he sipped from it. He almost sighed with relief; it was a small act of kindness but one that he trusted, and the first he had genuinely received in months. Dustin was doing the same on the other side of the kitchen, looking across the rest of Steve's open plan house, knocking an old cereal box over with his foot.

“So…”

Shit.

“So…”

“What happened then?”

Steve stared out of the window behind Dustin.

“You gotta talk man, this… All of this is not good.”

“I know, I -”

“I have never seen anything like this except on the TV. Did you even realise that the food in Fudges bowl was rotten?”

Steve flinched, still staring out the window, resuming his decision to not say a word as anger fuelled by shame rose within him.

“I don’t mean to harp on about it -”

“Then don’t.” Steve snapped back before he could hold his tongue.

Dustin raised his eyebrows but continued nonetheless. “Look, I know you. I know you love this damn cat more than most humans but he is sick Steve, sick and hungry. You have forced him to live in an environment that is covered in crap, his shit is everywhere and it stinks.”

Steve didn’t try and make excuses at this point, but he noticed the grip on his cup was so tight that his knuckles were whitening.

“I mean… I don’t understand how _you_ can live like this. Have you been sleeping on the sofa?”

Steve stared harder through the window, trying to focus on the silhouette of the dying trees swaying in sun.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me asshole, have you been sleeping on the sofa?”

Gaze locked on Dustin, eyes narrowed, Steve stared at his friend watching his facial expressions suspiciously. “Why the fucking spanish inquisition? What does it matter to you?” He said with a low voice.

Dustin put his coffee down to return the stare. “Are you _seriously_ quizzing me about why I am asking questions right now?”

Steve faltered.

“It would be fucking weird of me to _not_ be asking questions dude.” Dustin moved over to the sofa-turned-cesspit, picking up a fistful of the used tissues, cigarette butts and food wrappers and holding them in plain sight.

Steve recoiled and then felt heated. Dustin was starting to cross a boundary. What was he trying to do? Make him say _sorry?_ This had _nothing to do with Dustin!_

“What have you been doing with your fucking days Steve? Just smoking up, jacking off and wallowing?!”

Dustin was circling around the truth and it was getting too real now, and then he said ‘wallowing’. Steve flipped. “What are you trying to fucking say huh? What do you want _me_ to say? Want me to say sorry and grovel at you for forgiveness or some shit?”

His friend threw the trash on the floor, at total loss, his face bright red. “Why would I want you to be sorry? Do you just… not understand anything? I am not being a bad guy here, I am fucking _worried_ about you!”

Steve shook his head as undefined and powerful emotion rolled over him. He felt cornered and under a spotlight, back to the wall with only strong hind leg and claws for defence. “As if. As fucking _if_ . You all want me to be sorry, you all want me to change. All everyone wants from me is to be something convenient, something _easier_ to tolerate and move -”

“By everyone I sure as hell hope you aren’t including _me."_ Dustin seethed, trying to relegate his burning upset into something else; grabbing as big an armful as he could of dirty laundry, shoving it into the washing machine and kicking the door shut.

This made Steve angrier. Dustin wasn’t fucking listening to him, wasn’t hearing him and he felt betrayed that the one person he trusted didn’t fucking get it. “Just STOP IT okay? Stop it. Stop cleaning, stop all this fucking shit. Stop trying to fix this.” Coffee slung into the sink, he smacked the detergent out of his friends hands.

Dustin shoved him right back without thinking, “I am not trying to FIX YOU! I am trying to help my fucking friend! My friend who won’t tell me what is going on; wont tell me what is broken in the first place. I couldn’t fucking fix you if I _tried_ because I _do not know what the motherfucking problem is!"._ He held his position, staring his non blood-brother in the eyes, braced and ready to take a hit.

Steve walked in a circle and ran his hands through his hair furiously, pulling it tight and away from his face. He turned back to Dustin, tears streaming down his face and landing on his bare torso.

Dustin reached a hand out to hold his shoulder but Steve smacked it away before recoiling away from him, holding back manic sobbing. Dustin was scared now. “What’s wrong? I am not trying to fuck with you, I just wanna know-”

“No you don’t. No you fucking don’t. No one fucking does and no one will fucking understand. Just take Fudge and leave me here, fuck _off!”_ Steve choked.

“If you think I am gonna leave you hear like this then you don’t know me at all, don’t insult me like that.”

Steve watched in disbelief as Dustin _continued to fucking clean,_ like he was trying to spite him by ignoring everything Steve had said. He hadn’t listened to a goddamn _thing,_ no one was _listening!_ “I fucking know you! Fucking junkie, no sorry - _'_ _stoner',_ spending all of his goddamn life smoking up, stuffing his face and working some shitty dead end job. You never fucking elevate yourself, you just drift through life as if it cannot touch you. You get to _be_ who you want, _love_ who you want, _do_ what you want with _no fucking consequence!_ You have NO IDEA how fucking lucky you are. And yet you come up into _my_ house uninvited and act like I don’t know my fucking shit, like I don’t know you. Fuck y-”

 

* * *

 

A loud crash thundered through the room as Dustin kicked the coffee table over. He walked over to Steve, his own eyes watering as he grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and shook him.

He was hurting now, deeply upset by Steves poison. Dustin knew deep down this came from a place of defence and pain, but he couldn’t believe that his friend turned on him like this. He was only trying to help and he just couldn’t understand where he was going wrong. He was angry, not at Steve really, but because there was this… barrier between them and neither could get through to the other. He saw in Steve’s eyes pure agony; saw that he was unable to contain himself and that he was scared.

It hurt him.

“Fuck me??” He cried, “Fuck you! Do you not _see yourself Steve! You are fucking disgusting right now. There is cat shit all over the goddamn house, everything is rotting and there is fucking cum everywhere. I can hardly walk without falling over, it smells so bad in here I keep trying not to wretch! Your goddamn cat is so scared and hungry it wont leave me alone, it is_ **_hiding_ ** _behind me from you. You have lost weight, you fucking stink, you have no clean clothes or dishes and you are too fucking stoned to give a shit! You are one step away from pushing away your only goddamn friend, so now is the fucking time to tell me, what the fuck is going on!”_ Dustin’s grip on Steve didn’t weaken, he just held him at arm’s length; keeping him in place so he was sure Steve could not run away from the question this time.

He watched as Steve’s tears kept falling, but with a disturbing laugh he gripped Dustin’s arms with a surprisingly strong hand and said hysterically whilst looking right into his eyes, “You wanna know what’s fucking wrong with me huh? Fucking EVERYTHING! I am supposedly a fucking man and I have been raped more than _any_ goddamn girl I know. I never fucking fought back or did shit. Never even had the fucking spine or the bloody brain to see what was fucking happening. I bought shit for her, wrote poetry for her, ran around after her - after all of them. Defended them, gave them gifts, took them on dates, held them whilst they cried about their pathetic bloody bullshit. I fucked them even when it made me feel fucking _sick to my stomach_ because that is what I _had to fucking do!_ I never had a fucking _choice!_ Hell, I don’t even think I was ever… turned on by any of them! I just had a character to play, and I was never permitted _any fucking deviance from that role,_ so I would walk my stupid fucking dick right up to them and actually ask them for what disgusted me.”

Dustin was silent as he tried to hold back his emotions, not making a sound. He continued to hold Steve firmly as he unravelled, but inside he was breaking. This was his fucking fault. Like a fucking idiot, he had to throw Steve, alone, into reality when he couldn’t survive it and now he was lost down the rabbit hole.

“I was so fucking _weak,_ so _stupid!_ All that fucking bitch would have to do is threaten suicide and all my anger would have to go, because it would’ve been MY fucking fault if she did anything. She would hang that shit over my head man, over my goddamn head till I caved in and came back with an _apology._ If I wasn’t a convincing enough show… If I didn’t fake and moan my bloody head off, she would call me a liar and an abuser. A goddamn, fucking abuser” Steve cackled and almost fell over, “A shit boyfriend, a useless fucking man because I didn’t enjoy her forcing herself onto me or trying out her new shit inside me.” Steve smeared his tears across his cheek looking away, "I can't even... since you told me... since I fucking found out... I can't even go to the restroom without panicking, like I can feel it happening again and it  _hurts,_ so I don't fucking eat - so I never have to be in there and do... the fucking thing. I can't sleep in my fucking bed because the space makes me feel she is there. Can't... look at myself without seeing everything." He looked at Dustin, shivering, "I did so well to push this down. I fucking... i tried so hard just so I could keep up the act, like if I never looked at it... It could never effect me. And now..."

Steve triailed off and slumped to the floor, laying there, his head surrounded by his cum stained pants and bloodied tissues. Dustin felt like he was going to be sick. He was frozen with his hand across his face as Steve continued to go deeper into his feeling.

“You know what the worst of it was?” Steve said through gritted teeth, his hands covering his eyes and holding them there before he ripped them away to look directly at Dustin. “Nobody gave a _shit!_ I would _tell people what she was trying to get me to fucking do and they would laugh! Fucking laugh! Or blank it out like I hadn't said anything AT ALL!_ Telling a friend and being like “she kept trying to shove this thing in me and it freaked me out” and they would change the subject in such a hurry, making out like was wounding them or ruining their goddamn day. Some would _laugh_ and call me a fag because she put things _in me_ , and others... others would fucking _te_ _ll me it was GODDAMN KINKY!_ THAT THEY HAD DONE IT AND THEY LIKED IT, SO I SHOULD QUIT MY WHINING AND LET HER DO IT.  
Even my fucking parents… When it happened in _THEIR_ fucking house, would tell me to get my shit together like I was disturbing their precious space and deluded fantasy. I would pander to anything she wanted and they would be constantly saying that ‘feeling a bit weird’ wasn’t a reason to dump someone as ‘successful or pretty’ as her. I remember them rolling their eyes and walking away, scolding me because I was unstable and I wasn't considering how my reactions would affect the family image. Fucking used to tell me I was making a big deal over nothing and being dramatic. They were never more proud than when I had Sharon on my arm, looking like the Steve fucking Harrington they always dreamed of.  
It wasn’t that no one knew, it’s that it was happening in plain _sight,_ and no one thought shit other than how pathetically… whipped and under her thumb I was; that it was gross how I clung to her and put her on a pedestal, and I couldn't do or say shit because _heaven fucking forbid I actually express anything that pops their fucking bubble!_ No one tried to say anything to her when I told them shit. No one tried to pull me away. No one asked me if I was okay when I was shaking right? You all thought I was being ‘melodramatic Steve’ again, like you all _enjoy_ seeing me panicked and confused.  
You wanted me to be your parent, older brother and best friend, but for _all_ that time, I had _no one. NO ONE!_ Just a group of people who asked shit off of me providing I continued to play the fucking role, because if I didn't you would all take the piss out of me,  _continually._ And then… and then when I closed my doors; when I got cold and lost my fucking soul, everyone left. I stopped playing the fucking fool and everyone left, including my parents, who were so fucking let down that I couldn’t have the perfect wife and family they wanted me to have, that they could no longer tolerate being around me anymore and moved away.”

Steve broke down into floods of tears, dropping back to the floor and curling up in a tight ball.

Dustin was crying himself, he couldn’t believe how he missed all of this. He should have fucking listened back then, should have seen _Steve,_ rather than The King. He had assumed Steve was indestructible, shit in a fist fight sure, but at his core Dustin believed that his friend was untouchable. He truly thought for most of his life that guys like Steve were these… perfect visages of masculinity; thought that they didn’t really feel like the rest of humanity did and didn’t have any problems.

He sat next to the sobbing, fractured wreckage of his best friend and cried with him. He remembered Steve asking some of those questions about what was going on with Sharon, but he honestly thought that it was normal at the time. Dustin knew he was only a teenager when it kicked off and this couldn’t be put on him, but he felt so much guilt that he not once thought to ask if Steve was okay. Guys just didn’t suffer like this. He was raised to believe that suffering was visible and if it wasn’t shown how women were permitted to express it, then it didn’t/shouldn’t exist. So when Steve was cautiously and anxiously trying to ask him whether some shit Sharon did was normal, all he felt at absolute most was ‘ _this is weird, well I guess that is what they are into.’_ , and after those thoughts were expressed he then felt angry at Steve for putting her first over him.

“I’m so sorry Steve” Dustin said quietly, trying to pull his friend over to him, “I should have done more. I didn’t see it, i didn’t understand it. I was so annoyed at you and jealous of you I just… I should have been there for you then and I wasn’t, and I should have been there for you after the fucking fight and I wasn’t”

Steve moved his hands away from his eyes, and looked at Dustin. His expression was changing, Dustin could see it but he couldn’t read it, “Hey… don’t… Don’t be sorry. You were a kid. How were you to know? It wasn’t your problem, not your deal. I am and never was your responsibility. Don’t hold that over yourself.”. Steve tried to sit up, leaning against Dustin with their backs against each other. “That wasn’t fair of me to say. Nothing here is your fault. We just… I guess, we were in a trap from the start. Both of us. How could you be there for me if you didn’t know at that time what any of this was and that guys could be hurt like this? I didn’t even know until you told me, so you at least learned quicker than me. You have always been so fucking smart, somedays I wonder where I would be without you.”

Dustin couldn’t help but let out an emotional laugh. Steve was right. It was neither of their faults.

Fudge snuck out from the corner now completely stuffed, and snaked his way under Steve’s arm. The man, still in only his boxers and socks, pulled the cat up to his chest and hugged it tightly, burying his stubble into it’s manky fur and apologising.

Dustin smiled a bit through tear stained cheeks with pride and relief as the storm settled around them and just rested there; trying to take in how much more of the real Steve he was permitted to see today, and how much more there would be left to see in the future.

He laughed again alongside Steve, who was still sniggering and crying, but inside he knew shit was going to change in a big way, and he had to be there for Steve when it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOFT. Right.
> 
> Holy crap, lol, I thought the LAST chapter was hard to write. This one has had me in a mess all fucking week. Very close to the bone. I cannot downplay how this kind of... discovery can blow your mind. 
> 
> I want to hammer home how fucking messed up and horrifying it is for guys going through this surrounded by other men who are essentially conditioned to be blind to it. No one can help each other because they are all denied feeling and acceptance. I wanted to show how this weighs heavy on the friends that love you, and how conflict arises even when the caring party has the best intentions because at the heart of it all, neither can trully understand/know each others experiences. 
> 
> Steves history is challenging because it is a compilation of very real experiences usually not discussed if the survivor is male. Surviving domestic violence, sexual violence and rape is a life long game. Some function better than others after but EVERY journey is valid. Gender should NEVER play a part in how a survivor is recieved. Guy/girl... it doesnt matter. 
> 
> Next chapter will perk up i promise, Steve still has an apology to make, a shower to have and we get to see Billy greet him at the door mid-work out and watch as Steve tries to be sincere whilst flustering all over the place. 
> 
> These guys *will* have the life they deserve, I promise... Just... Many more chapters away.
> 
> Love you all.
> 
> Kit


	7. Kiss and Make Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the day comes to an end and the pair set Steve's house in order, there is only one thing left for them to do. Fulfil their promises to each other.
> 
> Dustin is faced with the challenge of convincing an anxiety ridden Steve to apologise to Billy and in turn, save his soul. No easy feat by anyones standards, but he knows his friend and has a plan.
> 
> Meanwhile on the other side of town, Billy is dealing with the assault in a very different manner, completely unaware of who is about to show up at his door with their tail between their legs.

 

Water cascaded down Steves back as he scrubbed himself clean. The water below him was starting to run clear now, which was just as well considering he had been in the shower for almost a full hour. Between Dustin and himself, they had managed to somehow get control over the house. The task had taken them almost the entire day but Steve felt a weight lifted when they finally switched the vacuum off and put the bins outside.

The pair had hardly talked during this time, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence; more like the calm after a hurricane. With the radio on as loud as they could get it without distressing Fudge, they just got straight to it, taking the occasional break to rifle around in Dustin’s backpack for snacks. The guy _always_ had candy somewhere on his person. Around 5pm as they downed tools and collapse on the sofa, Dustin had told Steve bluntly that the only way he would get a pizza was if he got his sorry ass into the shower. It was a cruel thing to dangle over Steve’s head; he loved pizza so there was no quarrel, no debate. Steve just got up and sulked his way into the bathroom, tummy rumbling.

Being late July, the sun was still pouring like honey through Steve’s bathroom window, it’s rays almost touchable in the steam as the leaves on the trees outside danced in the breeze. So much shit had gone down and he knew there was more still to come. There was no magic cure for any of this, that much was clear, but he felt genuine relief through his body having actually expressed himself. Neither he nor Dustin were going to push anything regarding Steve’s past anymore; they had both decided it was important that any decision to be made was all on Steve and that made him feel calmer. So for now, he allowed himself to recover in the warm water, filling his senses with all that used to bring him peace as he attempted to build his sanctuary again brick by brick.

As part of this process, he had agreed to take Fudge to the vets for a check-up within the week, in return Dustin had taken the time to give the cat a little bath. Steve felt genuine remorse for how he neglected the cat. He may not have given a flying fuck about himself but he loved Fudge like some kind of bizarre, scruffy, ginger child. He promised that if shit got this bad again, he would contact Dustin who would then come over and watch films with him, encourage him to look after himself gently and distract together. Another small thing that helped Steve feel safe was the reassurance that Fudge too would never be left like that again, because Dustin was going to talk to his mom this evening about having Fudge to stay occasionally. Steve didn’t understand quite what happened to him over the past month and he knew he wasn’t in the clear yet by any means, but he had started to build a safety net to ensure it would never get this bad again which was a start.

Steve turned off the water and stepped out onto the soft bath mat, taking the time to scrunch his toes in the fabric, exhaling slowly at the sensation. Lips curling into a very small, private smile, he wiped away the condensation from the mirror with a newly washed towel. He winced at the sight of his face and set upon shaving. Steve paused midway, looking at the facial hair he had started to tame around his jawline and decided he would keep it… Not a _big_ decision on the outside but somehow it felt like an important choice to make. Something he chose to do because he liked it. People were used to him looking clean cut with a slight playful scruffiness to him, but that was the ‘character’ and whilst he wasn’t rushing to blow the old Steve to bits yet, he wanted to do a thing that was for him, and part of that was allowing him to appear more rough around the edges - a little freer from the uniform he had been forced to wear over the past fifteen years or so.

Rubbing aftershave and moisturiser into his cheeks, he looked at himself again in the mirror and smiled that secret smile again, blushing a little as he looked at his fresh smelling body; water droplets rolling off his abdomen slowly. He may not work out as much as some guys but his diet was generally good, putting enough time in at home to build a body that was lean and toned. Steve often felt insecure that he wasn’t as built as he would have previously liked but right now in this moment, he looked at himself with kindness as the sunlight kissed his body softly; outlining the muscle definition across his arm, back and upper thigh. This felt very strange to him. Somehow out of the wreckage of his collapse, he could see himself in a gentler, more genuine light than he ever had done before. It unnerved him a little; his immediate reaction being to crush that feeling and positivity because he felt he didn’t deserve it, but he fought it. Just for now, Steve would love himself a bit.

He slipped easily into a pair of wide-cut, knee length shorts and pulled over his head some ridiculous patterned shirt he adored, applying some concealant to the scar above his right eye. Steve waited before leaving the bathroom - his healing space - to ritually adjust his collar and wet hair a bit, nodded to himself encouragingly in the mirror before setting off to go antagonise Dustin about this pizza he had promised.

 

 

* * *

  


Dustin waited patiently on the sofa, eyes glued to Steve’s TV screen with his NES controller in hand. Today had been _heavy_ and he was still fairly numb to it all, but he felt like it was also a victorious day.

He was proud of Steve for talking to him, even if it was painful to hear. Proud of him for standing his ground where needed even if he was still a bit of a douchebag. All things considered, this went pretty well. Sure, the disaster he walked into was like nothing he had ever seen but for a guy who was unprepared, untrained and a bit of a dork, Dustin felt he did right by Steve.

When the pair worked together they were unstoppable. Occasionally Dustin would look around the open living space and be blown away by all they achieved during the day. Dustin knew he would never manage that by himself, his own room being a fucking dump, but it seemed to him that when Steve wanted/needed to get shit done, he would do it as if that task was the only thing in the world that mattered. Dustin envied that. Apathy was a big problem in his life and funnily enough, he was too lazy to do anything about it.

Dustin tried to focus on his game but his head was still floating in the clouds, lost in thought. He knew he had promised Steve the pizza night of a lifetime when he finished showering, but Dustin was left with a niggling and bizarre conundrum.

Billy fucking Hargrove.

It wasn’t that Dustin liked the man, it was just he had more empathy than he knew what to do with. A gift and a curse as his mom used to say. Dustin had been unable to shake the incident between Steve and Billy since it happened and he was often left trying to think how he would feel if someone did that to him. It left him at times feeling sick and almost in tears when he was alone in his room and now, having seeing what can come of this shit when unaddressed, he couldn’t bare the thought of anyone else on this godforsaken planet going through that hell alone.

He knew it was not his problem, but Dustin felt deep within his soul that it was his duty to prevent Steve from becoming Billy’s ‘Sharon’. He also knew the only way that would happen was if Steve was to apologise; let Billy know that he was not the one in the wrong with regards to this one, isolated incident. Problem was, he had no idea how to breach the subject with Steve in a way that wouldn’t throw his friend straight into defensive mode again.

From what he had gathered of this new and very real Steve, he was a man who couldn’t be pushed into anything anymore without explosive response. He had to be left or made to think that every choice he made was his own, free from coercion. Dustin could understand this because even though he knew what Steve had revealed was only the tip of the iceberg, he could sense that Steve had been denied the right to make any decision himself and now to prevent that happening again, his friend would armour up and fight anyone who made him feel anything like the old Steve.

A puzzle indeed.

Dustin considered what he would do if this was a roleplay game; if he as a healer/support character was trying to convince a dark-magic wielding mage to apologise to a demon he had just slain, knowing full well this unstable wizard could obliterate him at any minute. He paused the game and tapped the controller against his lips thoughtfully. He would have to find incentive and somehow play to the mage’s humanity. Failing that it would have to be ego. Maybe both? Dustin furrowed his brows, chewing loudly through a packet of Nerds. At least he knew what the incentive would be, that part was obvious, Steve would do anything for a greasy snack. The rest though, well this was like trying to navigate a character whose sheet had been rewritten and then kept hidden from all mid-play.

He heard the door open and looked over to the bathroom, and saw Steve emerge in a cloud of steam. Dustin stifled a snort at the drama and waved happily. “Hey! Took your sweet time didn’t you?”.

He watched as Steve blushed a bit and laughed a quiet “Fuck you asshole.”.

Something was different about him. Dustin studied Steve from the sofa, still munching through his sour candy and raised his eyebrows as he noticed, “Keeping the facial hair then?”.

Steve shuffled, embarrassed, then straightened his back and smiled broadly, “Yes, yes I am. It’s not a lot but I think it looks good. Do you think it looks good?”.

Dustin chuckled in surprise, Steve _never_ asked his opinion on anything, especially not his appearance. That was Dustin’s game. “Yeah dude, gives you this… edge y’know? You look good.”.

He watched as Steve’s shoulders relaxed, and with a sigh of relief said “Thank fuck for that.”.

The pair laughed together and Steve slumped on the sofa next to him, leaning into Dustin and asking playfully “So this pizza then… where is it?”.

“Jesus, are you ever not hungry?”.

“Well… not really. I haven’t eaten a meal in a good day or two so I am starving and ready for Domino’s. Besides you promised.” Steve jabbed Dustin in the ribs gently.

Dustin took this moment to introduce him to the ‘Billy issue’. “I did promise but… there was a promise you made to me a month ago that you haven’t kept yet.”.

 

 

* * *

  


Steve looked at Dustin, hungry and confused. This wasn’t fair, he just wanted a pizza.

“What are you talking about? What promise? Can it wait till after we eat?” He said rather desperately.

“I don’t think so dude, this is overdue. If you can live off of nothing but candy and cheese balls for a whole fucking month, I am pretty sure you can survive another hour or two.”.

Steve studied Dustin’s face looking for clues. The guy wasn’t giving anything away. Fuck, he was hungry. “Stop being mysterious dickhead and tell me what it was.”.

“Remember, your pizza and path out of starvation depends on your completion of this task.” Dustin said reverently.

Steve groaned dramatically, “yeah, yeah, fine, whatever, what is it??”.

“Billy.”

Steve raised his eyebrows and slumped further into the chair, his chin resting on his chest. Shit.

“You promised me that you would apologise, in-fact I told you if you didn’t I would never forgive you.”.

Steve nodded glumly.

“Now, I know this month has been a fucking write-off so I won’t hold it against you, but now you are clean and stuff, don’t you think it’s a good idea to just… get it out of the way?” Dustin said kindly, trying to be as gentle as possible.

Steve puffed his hair out of his face petulantly, making Dustin laugh. “I guess.” Dustin paused, waiting for more of a response. Steve rolled around on the sofa a bit, waving his arms as he spoke, “But can I just do it after food? I am snappy and shitty when I haven’t eaten, I am gonna fuck this shit up if i don’t eat-”.

Dustin slung a packet of Dorito’s at Steve who looked up at him irritated but also in awe. Where in the hell does he _store all this stuff?_ “Quit acting like a kid man, you’re supposed to be the adult here. You are literally a few months from turning 30.” He said with a big smile, ruffling Steves hair.

“Okay… fine.” Steve grumbled, smacking Dustin’s hands away before sitting back up and adjusting himself. “But I don’t know where he lives. I’ve always avoided him, it’s not like I just know these things.”.

Steve watched as Dustin held a finger up to shush him, rummaging around in his bag and pulling out a tattered piece of paper.

“What’s that?”.

“This,” Dustin said, straightening it out on the sofa, “is Billy’s address.”.

Steve flinched from it, then squinted at Dustin through suspicious eyes, “What the? _How?”_.

“I work at Blockbuster’s dude, _everyone_ has a card with us. I mean, technically I am not allowed to do this - confidentiality and all - but I figured it was better than traipsing all around Hawkins trying to find him. The guy has some pretty interesting taste in films, some deep shit in his withdrawal lists.” Dustin peered over his CapriSun and watched as Steve blushed unconsciously.

Steve hung back a bit, feeling light headed and a bit faint. This was all getting very surreal, Billy wasn’t _allowed_ to be an actual human doing actual human things like watching videos. The thought made him feel odd and fuzzy inside, which then left him feeling agitated. Good thing no one knew what he had been jerking off to the past fucking month, shitting hell. “Why do you just have this on you?”.

“Because I suspected you would chicken out to be honest. Had it on me for weeks.”.

Ah fuck, Steve couldn’t fight with him on that. Avoidance was a real issue for him and he had built up a huge well of anxiety surrounding apologising to Billy.

“Look, I’ll just make this real easy. I will not buy you any pizza or anything until you go to his house and apologise. I will, if you want me to, walk you there and hang about if that makes it easier and call the cops if shit kicks off again.”.

Steve wavered and dragged his hands down his face, shaking his head in disbelief.

“It can be over in like 10 minutes tops I reckon, and then you can come back to mine, and if you promise to give me your remaining stash, we can get high, watch Independence Day again and stuff our faces. We are only gonna smoke up at my house though Steve, I won’t give you any pot to have here anymore.” Dustin looked at Steve as he imagined a good father would, which was pretty odd to Steve considering _he_ was Dustin’s senior.

“Fuck. Fucking hell.” Steve swore, head buried in his hands, adrenaline high as his breathing quickened.

“Think of it this way, and I sincerely don’t mean this as a guilt trip but like, by doing this you are making things right. All your life you have been left to believe this shit was okay and that _you_ were the bad guy in it right? No one ever apologised to you sincerely and acknowledged their faults. I bet that fucking hurt man.”.

Steve nodded sadly, looking away.

“Okay, so, on the other side of town is a guy who has just been through similar. We have both seen how much this can wreck a person. Would you honestly wish all of what you have been through.. All of that hell on him? I know he is a fucking asshole but seriously… Would you? Could you?”.

Steve looked at the ceiling for a while. He wanted many things for Billy; to see him get run over by a bus was a pretty big one, but… Deep in his core, Steve didn’t want anyone to go through what he had. The remorse left him feeling uncomfortable. “No - I don’t think I could.”.

“So what you have here is the chance to be _stronger and better_ than all those dipshits in your life - to surpass them and do what all of them were too fucking dumb and weak to do. Only you can repair the damage. It may never work, but you would be a hero for trying. God knows I wouldn’t be able to.” Dustin gripped his friends hand tight and Steve pulled away, only now noticing he was shaking. “I know this is scary, I fucking know. I know he has almost killed you twice, I know all of this. But doesn’t that make you _strong?_ Facing someone of that much fury and power whilst knowing all of what they have fucking done to you and could do to you, and just… saying sorry?”

Thinking long and hard, Steve hunched over holding his head in his hands, staring at Fudge who was cozy and safe in his little cat bed. He knew what Dustin was trying to do and it was working. This irritated him as a voice in his head tried to tell him that he was being played, but Dustin did have a point.

Worst case scenario: Billy attacks him again, Dustin then calls the cops and it is all just how it was, but at least he apologised. Maybe a few broken bones and a concussion but nothing he hadn’t survived before.

Best case scenario: He says sorry, Billy gets a bit snappy but then says sorry for stabbing him and they nod, then walk away from each other in awkward silence having agreed to avoid each other from then on.

Easy.

Fuck though, Steve still felt sick to his stomach. “Shit.” He yelled, “Shit, Shit, _Shit!!!”_ , standing up in a rapid movement, hopping from foot to foot and shaking himself off in an attempt to psych himself up. “Okay, fuck it, let’s do it.”.

Dustin beamed with pride, stood up and slapped him hard on the back, filling his rucksack with all his shit, getting ready to go. “You ready?” He said excitedly.

“Fuck no, but let’s get it done!”

“Ready to kiss and make up?” Dustin said teasingly in a stupid voice, mimicking his mom.

Steve’s only reply was a sharp clip around the back of his friends head before he stormed off, grabbing his cigarettes, keys and sunglasses.

“Right!” He said, faking confidence.

“Victory or Death!!!” Dustin replied, pointing to the door and opening it for Steve who sped out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Leaning over his kitchen counter, Billy decanted the last of a cheap bottle of red wine into a coffee cup and grimaced as he downed it. Truth be told, he preferred rosé but this had been a ‘gift’; some kind of fucking bribe from a guy he had screwed a week ago. It was just a one time deal, lasted no longer than an hour tops even with the pills, but this idiot thought he could buy his way into Billy’s pants again with this garbage red. He groaned loudly at the memory of the man’s hands on his body, but he threw it away along with the wine bottle straight into the trash.

Since his disgrace a month ago, Billy had realised two things: life was so much easier when you accept you are broken, and sobriety was for idiots. Somehow, by embracing his flaw and not giving a shit, he had managed to function pretty well. He had kept on top of his apartment, paid his bills on time and by some fucking miracle, landed himself a job in a bar outside of town. It was mind-numbing work but it suited him; far enough out of Hawkins for him not to feel trapped and enough of a dive for no one he knew to show up. As it turned out, this bar was a pretty good place to pull, providing that he ensured it was out of sight of his employers which was easy. Useless assholes. Billy did most of their job for them anyway.

He looked in the living room mirror for what must have been the tenth time that day and inspected himself through hazy, slightly drunk eyes. Billy was sweating, standing in just his Adidas sweatpants and flip flops. He looked good and the feeling pushed his chest out with pride, his chin held up. That was something else he had chosen to cling to following the fight last month, as fucked up as it was. In his head, Billy must have looked _incredible_ to have invited Steve to do what he did, and that made him feel pretty fucking neat, so he made it his priority to keep working on it. His pants though… there was no excuse for them, he knew. Billy had just somehow lost his usual workout gear last week and this was all he was stuck with, but being that he was remaining indoors, he didn’t give a damn. Something in his white trash appearance humoured him a little.

Wondering over to the hi-fi, he discarded his usual metal bullshit for an album he had stolen from another one of his hookups. Blood Sugar Sex Magik. Billy had never really paid the Red Hot Chili Peppers much attention through the years being so regimented in his music tastes, but their aggressive couldn’t-give-a-flying-fuck attitude had helped bolster his. Plus, he was pretty sure he fancied each one of the band members. Billy appreciated the bare torso’s and grunge aesthetic. Interestingly enough, his panic and hatred around his sexuality had lessened in intensity now he had accepted fully that his entire being was tainted. He wasn’t punishing himself for it as much anymore having come to the conclusion the universe would just do it for him, just as it had done his entire life. Like it had done with Steve.

Why fight who you are? Billy thought to himself as the music started playing. Nodding his head in time and smoking half a cigarette before discarding it in an ashtray, preparing for his bench press.

He was working out more than usual now. It was more fun, he discovered, when he was the right amount of slightly intoxicated; enough to fuel aggressive determination, and not enough to lead to injury or apathy. Billy was in that space now as he upped his weights, teeth gritted as he doggedly pushed up, his back arching as he racked it. Gyms were for people who didn’t have the discipline to build themselves at home - that was his opinion anyway, so his living room had become a space partially dedicated to his body; his temple. He never brought people to his apartment for hookups, never had friends over, so he wasn’t concerned with it being a people friendly space. It just had to be a Billy friendly space and the weight racks and bars brought him calm whenever he was around them, because at any point he could just get up and fix the only thing he had control over - his body.

He lowered himself for the next set, adding 7lbs onto his usual limit and spreading his hands slowly across the bar. Billy loved how it felt in his palms, loved the cold steel on his calluses; it was _home._ He breathed in deep, gripped it hard and with a grunt, unracked it. Then he heard voices outside.

Billy held the bar just above him close to the rack, unsure if he should put it back or commit to the full rep. The voices went quiet so he shrugged it off and went to do the press. Sweat beading on his brow with his eyebrows knitted together, he tensed everything he could and lowered the bar just above his chest, holding it there for a moment for maximum effect. Then he started the push up, exhaling sharply as he pushed past all his previous records. With a triumphant crash, he slammed it onto the rack above his head and rolled up off the bench.

 _“Fuck yeah!”_ he shouted to himself, beaming with pride, arms shaking as he punched his thigh. Nailed it. Walking over to note his new target weight in the diary, he was interrupted by the voices again. Who the _fuck_ was that? Billy quickly scrawled the number absent mindedly in the book and threw it on the sofa, using a towel to dry his forehead and neck before slinging it over his shoulder. It had better not be that fucking asshole, “I swear to god, if he has brought me another fucking gift I am going to beat his ass into the ground,” Billy cursed to himself aloud, relighting his half smoked cigarette.

Then there came a tentative knock.

Billy leaned against the back of the sofa, his breathing still rugged and stared at his door in irritation, glaring at the mystery person behind it. He _hated_ being interrupted during his workout and this fucker here had decided to turn up at what, 8pm? He could tell by the knock that this person was anxious, and Billy considered for a moment putting a shirt on but shrugged the thought away. He kinda wanted to see the reaction of the intruder when presented with his body this way. It gave him a rush.

Cigarette still in hand, he pushed himself up and opened the door, at which point his eyes widened in shock as he saw who was standing nervously in front of him. He almost choked on the smoke but reigned his shit in fast to not give anything away - not that he could figure out what was going internally at all. This was _not_ what he expected and he had no fucking idea how to react.

“Harrington?” Billy exclaimed with a slight lick of attitude. “What the fuck are you doing here?”.

  


* * *

  


Steve’s burst of nervous enthusiasm had dissipated as soon as he rounded the corner of his street, his movements slowing as reluctance grew within him. What the fuck was he doing? This was too much. Nope. He couldn’t do this.

Heart in his throat pounding like crazy, he shakily tried to light a cigarette, cursing his sobriety. His legs were still moving which stunned him, but his anxiety was now visibly obvious.

“Hey, don’t quit on me now dude, keep going - it really isn’t far.” Dustin encouraged jokingly, a large hand planted in between Steve’s shoulder blades pushing him on.

Dustin was right - Billy _really_ wasn’t that far from his house. For some reason, Steve had assumed he must be living in some godawful, shitty area a few miles from here, but as it turned out, Billy lived only a few fucking blocks away. A ten minute walk at most. Fucking hell. His heels were now digging into the pavement as Dustin ushered him along, such was his determination for Steve to do ‘the right thing’ and whilst he had agreed to it, he was now feeling very sick.

“You actually have to move your feet Steve. I can’t push you to his fucking door man, well I can, but that isn’t the point. I am not forcing you, this is a choice _you_ made. You gotta..” Dustin grunted, wedging himself behind his friend, “... take your own ass there, because this looks ridiculous dude.”.

Steve was suddenly very aware of a group of giggling girls standing outside the local diner and he looked away fast, cheeks glowing, attempting to straighten himself. He was all over the fucking place. He was a grown man! He should be able to do this! But his panic was pulling him into the ground, playing video reels of Billy standing over him looking bigger than ever, his muscular form outlined by the sun as he punched Steve in the face over and over again. This was madness. This was a death sentence. He was going to die.

 _“Stand up! Come on Steve!”_ Dustin said harshly under his breath, one eye kept on the large group now watching in glee by the diners’ vending machine. _“Where is the guy who took on what, six demodogs with nothing but a fucking nail bat? The guy who followed a group of idiot kids into some alien hellscape to face almost certain death just because he couldn’t let harm come to us? Hell! Where is the Steve from that fucking fight man? I hate that Steve, but he would’ve walked by himself, even if it was only to push Billy off a balco ny!” ._

He knew Dustin was trying desperately to prevent a scene to spare Steve his reputation but he still couldn’t do anything about it. His performance wasn’t anywhere near as dramatic as it felt on the inside, it was just people generally weren’t used to seeing an adult man having an anxiety attack.

“Just wait! One fucking minute! I need to… I need to breathe.” Steve exclaimed, shoving Dustin off of him, bent over with his hand against the wall holding his body up.

“It isn’t that much of a big deal, you will be safe, look I’ll be right here, okay?” Dustin said, trying to soothe.

“What the fuck would you be able to do against him if he goes _fucking mental at me again?”_ Steve interrupted, sweating now.

“I’ll just _be_ there. I’ll call the fucking cops. Look-” Dustin said, pulling out a massive Nokia from his pocket before continuing, “I have my moms phone, I can just call them right there. He isn’t gonna make the same mistake again because I _will_ call them.”.

“But… oh god… shit…” He was starting to hyperventilate now. Steve was trying to believe Dustin but it felt like the ground was gonna swallow him whole. “He’s gonna fucking _kill_ me man… I fucking… I did… that… he is _justified_ in wanting to kill me… I can’t… _fuck_ …”

“No he won’t, listen to me Steve, he won’t fucking kill you. This is _why_ you are going to apologise - to make things right! You’re doing the right thing here. You gotta grit through this. He is just a man. Sure he is… stronger than most and a little terrifying… but he is _just_ _a man._ You’ve fought way worse than him dude. Billy doesn’t have some weird face that opens up full of serrated teeth for a start… at least I don’t think he does… It’s not a full moon today is it?” Dustin asked, his tone changing from authoritative and assuring to playful contemplation so fast Steve couldn’t help but choke on a laugh.

Dustin had noticed the effect humour had on Steve, and leaning his back against the wall alongside his trembling friend, he continued. “What if he was though? Can you imagine? Doing a full Werewolf In London thing at the gym or some shit,” Dustin giggled to himself peering at Steve who was still hunched over, “the look of horror on his face as his hair falls out!”.

Steve snorted loudly. It was a funny image. Now he could picture the Billy-demogorgan trying desperately to put his hair back onto his head and he grinned. “How many pairs of jeans do you reckon he has torn through hulk style?” Steve said cheerfully, standing up slowly and leaning against the wall next to Dustin, “You would’ve thought for a guy who could change into a monster at any minute that he would quit with the tight as hell jeans, I mean sure they look good and all… I dunno where he finds them but they always fit so well...”

Dustin coughed with a knowing smile as Steve trailed off, forcing him to jump and bury a blush.

“It’s just money straight down the drain is what I mean, how would anyone afford that?” Steve said assertively trying to deflect Dustin’s raised eyebrow, before shifting uncomfortably and thumping him on the shoulder, pulling back from the wall to walk away, “Stop looking at me like that, asshole!”.

Dustin said nothing, but followed his friend still grinning as he stormed off down the street, hands in his pockets with a ‘ _don’t mind him, it’s been a weird day’_ glance for any confused stranger passing them by.

Steve was still confused but now he was embarrassed. How the _hell_ did he jump from blind terror of Billy, to mockery and _then_ to… that… in such a short space in time? His thoughts were a jumbled mess and his body wasn’t helping matters either because now he was riding nervous anticipation and excitement alongside panic. His legs were in auto pilot now, partially to evade Dustin’s judgemental/curious gaze but also to just get this done.

A small voice in his head, buried deep under the fear asked what Billy would be wearing today, and that made Steve move faster; as if somehow he could outrun the feelings that made no sense to him, unwittingly walking him straight to that which he was avoiding.

“A left here, turn left!” Dustin said cheerfully behind him.

Steve turned without thinking, still at war with himself.

“Straight ahead. You see the apartment block there? That’s where you wanna go.”.

Steve nodded dismissively, throwing the finger back at Dustin who just laughed.

“It’s number 13, I think… I think you go up the stairs over there - by the red door - yeah, those ones, go up those stairs and it’s number 13.”.

Of course Billy lived at 13. Of fucking course he did. Almost all the confirmation Steve needed that this was gonna go horribly wrong.

He pushed himself to the stairs and stormed up them, cursing under his breath the entire time. Dustin dutifully followed, arms behind his head beaming like a total fucking idiot. Steve slowed as he reached door 11 and halted at door 12, looking at door 13 with a mouth that was bone dry.

They were here. Billy’s fucking apartment.

“Shall I wait here then?” Dustin aked, now with a little more caution.

“Huh?”

“Shall I stand here and wait or would you rather I hung back by the stairs? I can come with you to the door but that might look a bit fucking weird.”

Steve thought hard “I… um… just… down the stairs I guess?” he said shakily.

“You sure? I can stay up here if you-”

“Just go wait somewhere else out of sight. Or go home, whatever, just… not where he can see you.” Steve was now very concerned with how he would look when Billy answered the door.

Dustin looked at Steve surprised but nodded, “You got this dude, it’s gonna be fine, you are doing the right thi-”

“I _know!_ I know. Just fuck off for a minute.” Steve snapped back rudely.

Dustin stood with arms folded as the pair stared at each other. Steve was still shaking a little but his adrenaline was starting to be replaced with cold determination. Dustin nodded again, “If you say so man, I will wait downstairs by the drinks machine, just signal me and I will make the call.”. With that, he squeezed Steve’s shoulder and turned to walk away.

Steve stood, alone, outside door 13, looking at the ashtray perched precariously on the window ledge and the blinds that were all drawn to. He breathed in deep, arching his neck around to look at the dying sun painting everything in warm pink and reds. If he was going to be murdered, he had picked a beautiful night for it to happen.

He walked to the door and knocked tentatively before pulling back and leaning on the balcony railing, waiting. Everything had gone very still, his pulse had seemed to just freeze as he stared intently at the door frame. This was it. No going back now. Shit.

Fuck you Dustin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you wonderful people! I promised you a lift and here we are. Thank you for sticking with this through the dark places and now I will aim to bring you a gift! This chapter has been fun. I wanted it to be kind, and I wanted to focus on building suspense and anticipation for both characters and readers. Billys way of dealing... Well I will explore that later; it's gonna be drawn out - less of an all out explosion, and more of a slow warping of character and identity, which will also end climactically. I kinda shudder for him a bit even as author, but it is once again, neccessary and will be a big deal for the pair of them. 
> 
> But for now, we are gonna embark on a journey of anxious confused feeling, fights for dominance, sexual exploration and a lot of "what the fuck is going ON?!" between the two. 
> 
> Courting has BEGUN! Let the games commence! Right after the next chapter that is *sly wink*. Thank you for your patience!!
> 
> Kit


	8. Oh.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the day reaches an end, Steve arrives at Billy's door to apologise. He has no idea what to expect and as such has appropriately prepared for the worst, but what follows next couldn't have been anticipated by either party... Not even in the dark recesses of their individual, private fantasies...
> 
> Will resolution be found? Or will it be a return to old habits as the pair stare face-to-face outside Billy's apartment in our most heated chapter yet.

Steve straight up stared at Billy as he opened the door, trying to not let his jaw clatter to the floor. Holy shit. As the man spoke he felt all his ‘cool’ suddenly disappear and flee his body like a flock of birds taking to the air. Steve couldn’t answer; couldn’t manage a fucking word, he just grunted a little and tried to avert his gaze, pleading with eyes to look at literally _anything_ but Billy’s body glistening with sweat in the evening light.

“Uhh…”

The silence was painful and Steve was very aware that he looked like an idiot and yet, in spite of his performance, he still couldn’t quite understand what the fuck was going on in his head. He just wanted his mouth to make words like it always had done, to do something other than stutter.

“I said, _what the hell are you doing here?_ At my damn door? How the _fuck_ did you find out where I live?” Billy repeated, his tone more confused and shocked at this point than angry.

 _Get it together Steve you fucking ass!_ He screamed internally at his total mind blank.

“You fucking deaf?” The man continued, now sounding slightly agitated.

“Uh, sorry, no. Yeah,” Steve stammered, trying to get a hold of the situation. It hadn’t been this damn hard to talk to him in high school, he was even able to throw attitude at the guy, but now…

“How do you know where I live, Harrington? You follow me or some shit?”

“No! No, uh, Dustin-”

“What, that curly haired fuck? What about him? What does he have to do with this?” Billy interjected forcefully.

“He gave me your address, he-”

“Why does he have my address, and _why is he giving it to you?_ ” Billy snapped back, his back straightening as he grew obviously angry.

Steve started to panic a bit but the coldness came back - _thank fuck_ \- grabbing his anxiety by the shoulders and forcing it to the bottom of his brain so he could answer without getting himself killed. “He works at Blockbusters, he has everyone’s address.” Steve answered steadily with his heart thumping in his chest, his gaze now locked Billy as he watched for sudden movements, “Look, can we talk?”.

 

* * *

 

 

Billy watched with puzzled amusement as Steve noticeably struggled to keep his eyes off of him, his enjoyment however quickly turned to frustration when _finally,_ his not-quite-drunk brain caught up with the situation. Steve had his address. _Shit_ , he thought to himself as paranoia flared in his chest. No one had his address; Billy had taken very strict measures to keep it so he could never be traced by people he knew when staying in Hawkins, and here Steve fucking Harrington was standing at his door asking for a fucking chat.

“Why did Dustin give you my address?” He said flatly, blanking the question and watching as Steve looked at the ceiling in annoyance.

“Does it matter?” Steve answered curtly, eyes rolling.

“You serious? Of course it matters you fucking tool - you showed up out of nowhere and turned up at _my_ apartment, and you say it’s just to _talk?_ Excuse my scepticism but, What the fuck?” Billy replied heatedly, folding his arms and looking down at his rival, completely ignoring the cigarette that was burning down to the filter.

He watched as Steve raised his eyebrows and moved a hand to rub the back of his neck looking away. Billy noticed the discomfort in the man’s body and this confused him further, for the life of him he couldn’t think of a single reason why Steve would be trying to talk to him after their goddamn history, _especially_ after that fight. Billy felt a cold spike of shame and self-hatred pierce through his intoxication as the memory tried to resurface and he immediately dismissed it, choosing instead to pretend ‘that part’ hadn’t happened.

The sound of Steve clearing his throat lured his wounded mind out of the past and Billy shook his head quickly, sweeping the dirty, golden hair over his shoulder before returning his focus back to the asshole who had interrupted his evening of solitude.

“I… Okay, I don’t know how to put this but… after… y’know, I figured it was best if we spoke…”

Billy’s eyes widened as once again, he was left bewildered. This guy was fucking determined. He unfurled his arms and leant against the mailbox mounted on his wall, wrist draped lazily over the edge. Billy breathed in deep. He wanted to kick the bastard straight off the apartment balcony and spit on him as he fell, but he also wanted to listen to what he had to say, and this internal conflict left him stumped. Flicking the spent cigarette onto the floor, Billy rested his other arm by his side and looked Steve up and down slowly, trying to make sense of what was going on. He said nothing.

Eventually Steve cracked, “Are you just gonna stare at me or can we just, do this?”.

Billy let the question hang in the air as he examined the man standing anxiously before him. He had never seen Steve outside of high school or the bowling alley, what’s more, he never thought he would again, so this was unexpected. All of it; his presence, his outfit, even the tone in which he was speaking, was not how he imagined Steve Harrington. It was a transformation - nothing dramatic, but that was the only way Billy could describe it. Small, subtle changes in both appearance and personality that he couldn’t quite place, yet it was enough to warm him at the back of his neck, pulling him in. He took a silent second to appreciate the addition of the facial hair that framed Steves jawline, before replying.

“Sure, fine, whatever.” He said lazily, forcing himself upright and walking into his apartment, leaving the door open behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve felt like he was going to pass out. He wasn’t sure what he had anticipated would come out of this encounter, but _this_ certainly was not it. The silence between them as Billy looked him over carried more suspense than any damn movie he’d ever watched with Dustin. The only memory he could begin to compare this tension to was the time he had been waiting in that scrapped school bus with the kids, nobody knowing what the fuck was going to happen as the monster dogs surrounded them, and _even then_ there was at least comfort in knowing there would be a fight. Here, outside door 13, he was in the fucking dark with no damn clue what was going to happen.

It had felt like Billy was inspecting him and that left Steve feeling on a totally insane spectrum, from embarrassment and annoyance all the way to vulnerable and exposed; naked almost. He also noticed within his body, anticipation and excitement which made him angry at himself. The longer Hargrove looked, the more complex and intense these sensations became so he was almost relieved when Billy finally disturbed the stillness.

What came next though, that… Steve was wholly unprepared for. He watched as Billy walked into his home, noticing the slight sway in his gait as he lead the way into the darkness, and Steve froze on the spot. Neither he or Dustin had seen this coming at all and Steve was left trying to coax his body to the balcony to look for his friend. Leaning right over, he still couldn’t see Dustin anywhere which made it worse. He just wanted to signal him, anything, to let him know what was going on but before he could find him, Billy spoke again.

“You coming in or what?”

Shit. FUCK.

Skin on fire with blood going cold, he looked down in amazement as his legs walked calmly into Billy’s apartment, taking one last look at the world as he knew it before closing the door behind him.

 

The first thing Steve noticed as he crossed the threshold was how cool it was, an explanation finally for why all the blinds were closed and why it was so dark; this wasn’t a monsters cave at all, the sun was only being kept out to allow the air conditioning to do its job, which was sensible. In fact, sensible was a good way to describe the apartment because whilst it wasn’t too far from the mess Steve had imagined, it was organised. Everything had its place amidst the clutter, and even though there were drinks bottles and beer cans dotted about, it was actually clean. Steve winced inwardly remembering how he had been living the past month and felt momentarily humiliated that Billy Hargrove of all people had managed to maintain a better bloody home than he.

Steve let his eyes wander around the open living space, looking for signs of character other than the obvious personal gym set up, and noticed the massive Pioneer HiFi system playing ‘Sir Psycho Sexy’ - a song Steve actually recognised. The machine was balanced on a sturdy cabinet that was almost entirely full of CD’s and Vinyl, and that surprised him; Steve loved music, so when he saw how Billy had arranged the entire collection in alphabetical order, he was lit by the smallest of sparks in his abdomen which he of course extinguished immediately.

What Steve had the hardest time ignoring though, was the aroma carried around the room by the air-con. It wasn’t bad, not in the slightest… It smelt _good;_ the combination of sandalwood, hair products, tobacco and sweat was like some cheap, drug store perfume made just for him.

Steve absentmindedly breathed it in and halted as soon as he realised what he was doing.

An agitated voice began yelling at him from the back of his brain, forcing Steve to blush angrily and turn away from Billy who was clattering around in the kitchen, seemingly not paying him any attention, _‘What is_ **_wrong_ ** _with you today? Stop it! This is fucking weird, stop being weird, this is Billy okay? Just stop being_ **_weird,_ ** _the guy is an asshole, the guy tried to kill you, he is a_ **_guy._ ** _Think of something else, do… something else. This is not allowed. You aren’t allowed to like this so stop!’_

Steve pinched himself hard on his bicep to try and dstract himself from whatever the fuck was going on, but it didn't work, his internal warring growing louder the more he tried to not look at Billy, _‘This is nothing, you aren’t feeling anything. This is BILLY HARGROVE, none of this is real, this isn’t happening. You’ve just had a weird fucking day, you will go back to normal soon, shit, what the hell is going on?!’_

“Drink?” Billy asked, head still down and focused, snapping Steve out of his personal crisis.

“Huh? Yeah sure” Came his reply, and Steve shuddered as he was hit with dejavu from the morning with Dustin. Holy shit, was that this morning? It felt like a week ago now.

Steve decided to continue staring at the music collection, pretending to be reading the labels. The collected force of his anxieties surrounding the apology, being in Billy’s space and his brain not behaving how he would like it to, was getting real fucking hard to conceal, but somehow by being this close to Billy in a manner that wasn’t overly confrontational, Steve felt the need to impress. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but a definite shift from how he had been around him before. Keeping calm and collected was now his top priority and to do that, Steve had to keep as much physical distance from Billy as possible because his presence left him feeling way too many things to handle.

Something ice cold was pressed firmly against his bare arm and Steve’s whole body jolted, “What the fuck was th-”, he started, turning on his heel quickly and coming face to face with Hargrove standing behind him, gesturing to the beer he was holding.

Steve barely held it together; thankfully his outward appearance gave very little away, his eyes narrowing to an unimpressed scowl at Billy as he snatched the can out of his hands. Sometimes, being an actor your entire goddamn life had its upsides, being able to conceal your honest reactions and replace them with another for example. Even so, Steve still had to try not to breathe in through his nose as Billy stood this close to him because Jesus _Christ_ he smelt good, and right now, Steve was determined not to give anything else away.

He watched carefully as Billy pulled away and sat on the edge of his sofa. The man said nothing as he opened his beer, hardly looking at Steve as he drank from it. Steve followed his example, leaning his back against the cabinet, trying to focus on the vibrations from the bass heavy speakers running up his spine. It remained quiet for a moment longer, Steve’s stomach knotting with adrenaline again, his mind committed to playing it cool until Billy rolled back to grab the remote for the stereo, turning the music off. _Real_ silence now. Leaning forward with his can held between his legs, Hargrove looked Steve square in the eye.

“You wanted to talk, so talk.”.

 

* * *

 

 

A foggy kind of static surged below Billy’s skin as he sat opposite Steve.

Within minutes of walking into his home, he grew tense and conflicted; voices screaming in his head at war with each other for inviting Harrington into his apartment, and all of them driving him straight to the bottle of hard liquor in the cupboard by his refrigerator. Torn between the past and present Billy was hiding delirium, swallowing desperately from the bottle in secret upon hearing Steve step over his threshold. The persecutor was gearing up again, forcing Billy to relive the memory of Steve making him climax on repeat until he bit down hard on the glass rim.

Billy wasn’t scared of Steve he didn’t think, but the man being in his space had him feeling deeply unsettled because it served as a pull back to reality and in that, his true feelings surrounding his ‘sickness’. He knew that alcohol could take him back to that destructive, carefree state where he had learned to hide his emotions, but that was impossible now; Steve acting simultaneously as a bucket of cold water dousing his delusional escapism and a barrel of gasoline thrown over his needs. Billy could feel it deep in his body - that almost itchy electricity coursing through his nerves, meeting the contraction of his muscles to trigger shortness in breath and an aching sensation burning white hot in his upper thighs.

Seeing Steve in a more authentic state at the door demanded that he too existed in that realm alongside him, but that brought with it an agonising reveal. Once again, Billy was aroused by what Steve had done to him and at his secret core, he was excited by Harrington’s company for this reason. He knew he was broken, broken _long_ before Steve, and still, he couldn’t handle seeing himself in this state nor could he survive the nebulous self loathing this knowledge brought, so he begged the bottle he continued to drink from to give him the strength to not give a shit a while longer. To enjoy the thrill ride without a care in the world rather than sink into oblivion.

The alcohol answered his prayers as it always did.

Considerably more fuzzy around the edges, he finally found the courage to ask Steve if he wanted a drink; something he wouldn’t have had any difficulty in doing if it was anyone else on the fucking planet, but with Steve it felt like a bigger gamble. His reply was as succinct as Billy’s question which was a relief, so he hid the bottle and shakily got to his feet, beer in hand. It had come to his attention when he reached a vertical angle that he may have drunk more that he  intended, which was a problem; Billy didn’t want his intoxication to be noticeable to Steve because truth be told, he felt ashamed of his crutch.

He fought with the alcohols itch to irritate Steve and put on a flirtatious show for him, settling instead to make him jump, but as he approached the man staring intently at his music collection, Billy felt himself flush. He stood quietly for a moment and noticed the outline of Steve’s back through his shirt, and he bit back the urge to run his hand across the defined shoulder blades. The alcohol had backfired, igniting greater intensity in his confusing, fucked up need for Steve to touch him; to _see_ him.

Billy tried to snap himself out of it, pressing the ice cold can against Steve’s arm to get his attention because in that moment, he was too choked to speak. He gave nothing away, dressing himself in his usual aggressive, nonchalant disguise before sitting down to hide his legs unsteadiness. He waited for Steve to speak, trying to not look at him, his own drink hiding any potential stirrings in his sweatpants before he gave in. If this was drawn out any longer Billy would be completely wasted, so he bit the bullet, turning off the music to offer Steve the respect of his attention to allow him to speak.

Breathing in deep and exhaling, Billy watched as Steve necked what must have been half of the damn can before replying. What on Earth could be this big?

“Right… Okay… so,” Steve began before rolling his head back, shaking it vigorously, his hair falling over his face, “Fuck it, okay, I… I’m sorry.”.

Billy choked and froze, eyes fixed on Steve as his own hands trembled. He felt winded and sick, his arms numbing, abdomen constricting. “What the fuck is going on?” He murmured under his breath as he left one hand still shielding his groin to down his beer.

“I am sorry, I had to say it, I shouldn’t have-”

Billy laughed frantically, standing up to turn away from Steve. Tears stung his eyes and he gritted his teeth tightly as he looked at the ceiling, pacing anxiously. This was too much; Billy couldn’t make sense of what was going on in the slightest, his body feeling both ready to cry and furiously turned on at the same time. Why was Steve fucking here? This wasn’t right - his words pulling heavily guarded emotion from Billy’s gut that were alien to him. Physical pain ricocheted through his system as his internal persecutor snaked their hands up Billy’s legs, forcing his thighs to go ice cold.

_‘Look what you did, you led him to believe he was the one in the wrong. You know better than that, you know this is all on you.”._

The demon traced a long finger from base to tip of Billy’s cock triggering yet another erection, and even though this was a psychological manifestation of self hatred and guilt, he swore he could see them smiling up at him cruelly.

_‘You did this remember? You made this happen because you wanted it to… This reaction of yours is the problem here. Steve just delivered what you craved, and now here he is hurting because of your disease. You should be the one apologising… Look, see, you want it to happen again, you need it to.’._

Billy looked at his hard-on in pained disbelief. His reptilian companion was right. It was all on Billy, and yes he fucking wanted it.

“You… You have nothing to be sorry for.” He snapped back, trying to hide the grenades going off within his mind and body.

He heard Steve place his drink down and cautiously move over to him, waiting a good few feet behind him before trying to reassure Billy, his voice firm, “No, I really do man, what I did… It wasn’t right.”.

Billy heard the shame in Steve’s voice and it fed his own guilt, his erection still present despite his heartache.

“Hey, listen, I-”.

“Look just fuck off okay? Shut up! This has _nothing_ to do with you!”

 

* * *

 

 

Nerves shot through Steve as he approached Billy who was evidently not okay. Fuck, what have I _done?_ He screamed at himself sickened, watching his enemy break before him. He didn’t know what to do. In spite of his fear he just wanted to make it better because this was his fucking fault. The man with his back to him trying to hold back tears and laughing was one Steve had created, and a character he had been for the past month. He couldn’t bear it.

He couldn’t touch him as he would anyone else in the world to calm them, being completely unsure of how his own body would react to the contact, so all he could do was try to talk him down. Steve would have to wear his shame and own it so Billy could see it.

Steve flinched as Billy yelled at him, stance changing as the guys temperament changed suddenly. He considered doing as he was told, walking away and leaving him to it, but that wasn’t right; Billy was trying to take the blame away from Steve and he couldn’t have that.

Clearing his throat and bracing himself for impact, he stepped closer and spoke assertively, “It has _everything_ to do with me, I should’ve _never_ done what I did, _ever.”._

He studied Billy’s body language carefully, ready to defend himself at a moments notice. Steve couldn’t read him and that was causing him more distress. He watched at Hargrove all but froze before he continued.

“There was no excuse for it. None. It was a fucked up thing to do. This is all on me.”.

And with that, Billy turned sharply and Steve did as Billy once advised, planting his feet firm into the lino floor and looking him in his tortured, watering blue eyes. He held his ground, adrenaline keeping his body steady and mind alert; only now could Steve smell the strong alcohol on Billy’s breath as he stepped over to him. He hadn’t realised the man had been drinking heavily beforehand, which firmly cemented in his mind that shit was about to get real, pretty fucking fast.

Muscles tensing across his body and preparing hands to ball into fists, he repeated his apology until he was damn sure it had punched through Billy’s confusion and rage, embedding itself in his heart.

“This was _my_ fault. What I did was assault, and I am sorry.”.

What Billy did next happened so fast that Steve was caught off guard, unable to react. Gaze unwavering, Billy moved a strong hand to the top of Steve’s forearm, trailing his thumb down the radial artery and resting at his wrist, gripping tightly so Steve couldn’t pull away and leading it into Billy’s pants where Steve felt Hargrove hard in his hand.

Steve’s eyes widened in shock, caught in stasis as heat sprinted up his arm and flooded his body. He recoiled and tried to pull his hand away in confused alarm, but Billy gripped him tighter, holding him in place. Mouth open in surprise, Steve looked at Billy trying to find an explanation for what he was doing and felt blood rush to his head as he also grew firm, thankfully concealed from view.

 

* * *

 

 

Billy was trapped in a cyclone, his rage, pain and shame fed his arousal rather than suppressing it and the more Steve spoke, the worse it fucking got. His cock ached as his head did, and it was as it always was when the masks were removed; involuntary arousal triggered by discomfort, humiliation and pain. He needed Steve to see it wasn’t his fucking fault, needed him to understand that it was Billy that had the problem and all Steve did was react, feeding his addiction.

Steve’s hands were cold against him and he did his best to not gasp. Billy wasn’t going to let him go until Harrington got the message and stopped making out like it was his fault.

“You feel this?” Billy snarled, his nails digging into Steve’s wrist as the man gasped sharply, “This… This is _my_ fucking problem, _my_ fucking disease. It wasn’t your fault, I am already fucking broken.”

He stepped right up close to Steve’s body, watching as he continued to try and pull away. Guilt bit him in his ribcage but that just made him harder. “You did nothing that I didn’t fucking enjoy, that I didn’t in some way crave.”. Tears started to track down his cheeks and with teeth bared he spat, “So if that was assault, then I fucking _wanted_ to be assaulted.”. Billy then released Steve’s hand and watched as the man snatched it away, stepping back and looking at it in despair. He was trembling now, his secret exposed and he waited for Steve to run away disgusted, but instead tracked the blush that spread across his cheeks.

Steve didn’t run away. Why wasn’t he running?

 

* * *

 

 

Shaking, Steve stared at his hand and turned it around to make sure it was still his. This was fucking crazy, fucking insane. His chaotic, dazed brain was struggling to process anything but the fever coursing through his veins and his own growing rigidity. What the fuck did Billy mean? Wanting the assault? What the hell was he talking about?

He stayed looking at his hand but spoke bewildered and frustrated, “What… I don’t understand… What I did was wrong-”

Billy laughed harshly and wiped the tears from his face, kicking the sofa, “What isn’t there to understand? You _forced_ me to cum and I fucking _liked it._ I fucking get off on being hurt, y’hear? _I am the one who is wrong!”._

Steve looked at Billy with an agonised expression, tears in his own eyes as he let it sink in. If only Billy knew - knew about the month Steve had spent jerking off to the guy hurting him, and the flipside where he came to the images of him hurting Billy, but worse. Billy was no more a monster than he was because Steve was excited and stimulated when he made him climax; powerless and humiliated, a broken man at his feet.

The synthesis of memory, Billy’s very real distress and the sensation of the man’s erection still lingering in his palm kept him rooted to the spot. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Billy’s body tense and exposed, chest rising and falling as Steve noticed for the first time the angry scarring across his abdomen.

Why was he feeling this fucking way? Steve had to stop it but he didn’t want to… He had _never_ felt like this before and the lure was more powerful than anything he had ever experienced with another person. He flinched and without thinking, cupped himself, twisting his body to try and hide his most guarded of desires.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why are you still here Harrington? Why are you still…” Billy began with a raised voice before trailing off in astonishment as he noticed what Steve was doing.

Billy felt the breath catch in his throat, eyes widening in disbelief. Steve… Was he _hard?_ Squinting, he tried to figure out what exactly was going on, looking away as the guy noticed Billy's gaze and froze. His hand wasn't moving. Holy shit, Steve was fucking hard and he was trying to conceal it.

Alcohol clouding his judgement and stripping his inhibitions, Billy, without a second thought, closed the distance between the pair and watched as Steve faltered back, trying to straighten himself. The man’s hair was shielding his eyes but Billy knew this state well, and he could sense Steves struggle to contain himself - his internal fight with his body generating an energy that singed the air like static.

Billy on the other hand couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He stood tall and confident before Steve before giving in to the madness, a hand moving to hold Harringtons chin between thumb and curl of finger. He raised it slowly so Steves face was aligned with his, taking in the turmoil and need in those dark, brown eyes. The man didn’t try and move away, he just looked right back at him, his breathing shallow.

Billy pressed his thumb down gently on Steve’s chin and lowered it just enough to pull his full lips apart. Eyes closing, he leant in to kiss him firmly, noticing as Steve’s entire body tensed whilst Billy moved his hand to the back of the man’s neck, holding him in place so he could slip his tongue in to taste him.

 

* * *

 

 

Struggling to contain a gasp, Steve’s eyes widened in shock again as Billy kissed him hard, frozen in his grip as Billy’s tongue curled around his own. Heat radiated from Hargroves bare chest forcing him to sweat beneath his clothes as Billy pressed himself against Steve, who helplessly looked to the side before closing his eyes slowly.

In the dark Steve felt it all and the sensations left him dehydrated. He needed more and his fight to resist was weakening with every drawn out second that passed whilst Billy traced his hand down his spine, holding him tight at the small of his back. The only obstruction between them was Steve’s forearm still shielding himself but he couldn’t bring himself to remove it, so he was left struggling to stand whilst he felt Billy’s need pressed against the back of his hand.

He couldn’t interact with Billy as his body told him he wanted to unless he let go, but that scared him. Somewhere inside of him, Steve knew as soon as he gave in, that would be it; he would no longer be able to run away from the secrets he fought hardest to deny, so this struggle wasn’t to push away the man coming onto him, but to take a final stand against his truths.

The decision was no longer up to him. Steve froze as Billy’s hand moved down from the back of his neck to the crook of his elbow where he then followed it down to what was being guarded below. Steve closes his eyes tightly, but Billy didn’t force anything - just held his hand securely around Steve’s and applied pressure.

 

* * *

 

 

Billy pulled away from the kiss to allow Steve to breath and was taken aback for a moment upon hearing him gasp loudly. He studied the man’s face carefully for any sign of genuine discomfort but he saw none, just relief and desperation. Taking this as sign to continue, Billy moved Steve’s hand out of the way, leaving it at his sides before slipping his own hand into Steve’s pants.

There was no complaint and Billy himself had to bite back a groan of his own as he found Steve’s erection immediately. He smiled wryly at the man’s size, offering a silent ‘thank you’ to the universe before gripping it steadily and with a relaxed wrist, began working it up and down.

The response from Steve was immediate; his legs struggling not to give out, blushing with his eyes closed as tight as they could so he couldn’t see what was happening. Billy tilted Steve’s head on an angle to expose his long neck, resting his nose and lips against it, breathing in deep before kissing it just under the jawline as his long hair rolled over his shoulders. He held Steve’s chin in place with one hand, the other expertly undoing the buttons containing his prize and flipped it out with ease.

He felt Steve flinch in embarrassment so Billy bit his neck hard to distract him, forcing out another one of those small gasps that were all the inspiration Billy needed in this moment to take Steve where he wanted him to go. He held his teeth down for another few seconds whilst he rolled the pre easing out of Steve’s cock over the tip with his thumb, teasing the secret sensitive spot at the top of the crease below the head until Steve almost fell backwards.

 

* * *

 

 

Struggling to hold his footing, Steve felt his body shudder as Billy worked him. He felt agonisingly shy at his exposure but other, more bewildering feelings were stirring within him right at the base of his thirst; a rebellion as Billy tried to make him lose control.

It reminded him of the state he was forced into when Hargrove had him pinned against the wall and it scared him at first, having now learnt where his power trip could take him. Steve tried to bite it down and focus on the gentle drone of the air con, but the more Billy pushed the harder he found it to remain sane.

His whole world in this moment had become Billy; his scent tugging at the urge he feared above all else but he could not give in. Steve had to resist but the man was expertly bringing his climax closer, leaving his knees weak.

Billy had spotted this, freeing his grip on Steve’s jaw to hold him upright with a strong arm. Steve moved an arm over Billy’s shoulder to prop himself up and unknowingly, locked Billy to him, forcing him to remain kissing his neck. His dick was throbbing in the others hand, who had since moved to a full palm closure, working his entire length and taking the time to linger at the top before pulling down to the base again.

“You gonna cum soon?” he heard Billy whisper huskily into his ear, and with that came the switch.

Anxiety dissipated and was replaced with arrogance and dominance as Steve was now lost within the insanity, having surrendered his fight against his urges. Billy was right, he was close, but Steve wanted it to be on _his_ terms with those blue eyes looking up at him. Billy had driven him dangerously close to Steve’s past; he didn’t want Hargrove to take him to that familiar, vulnerable state he had been in many times before, but he couldn’t shut this down… Not when it made him feel more fucking turned on than he had ever been in his miserable life, so he turned the tables.

With breathing still shallow, Steve tightened his hold around Billy’s neck and snuck his fingers into his hair, pulling his head to the side harshly, looking right at him as he said “Yeah, but like fuck am I getting my clothes dirty”.

 

* * *

 

 

Billy was on fire now, his own erection fighting to escape it’s prison, but it was clear he was no longer the one in command. This was what he wanted above all else because whilst the flustered Steve was hot in his own right, Billy needed the demon.

He looked into Steve’s almost black eyes and glared at him, refusing to show his relief, “Oh yeah? How d’you suppose that’s gonna happen?” he challenged, gripping Steve’s cock harder as he pulled up, feeling the pre cover his hands.

A sharp thumbnail drove itself into the base of his trachea just above his collarbone and Billy realised he had completely forgotten about Steve’s free hand. He tried to speak but instead choked, removing the arm that was fixed around Steve’s back to try and smack away the man’s grip, but Steve was faster, pushing down so hard Billy’s body was forced to follow its path, preventing the feeling of his windpipe being crushed.

One hand still fixed firmly in Billy’s hair, Steve pulled his head back as Billy had done with him only a minute of two beforehand. He didn’t struggle, just looked straight up at the man who was now standing confidently above him. Billy knew what Steve wanted and let the alcohol in his system run his tongue across his teeth in anticipation.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve had never done anything like this before but this felt _good_ , second nature almost and as Billy gave him that feral smile, there was no longer guilt; just two fucked up people trying to make the most of their respective hells.

He smacked Billy’s hands away from his cock before grasping it aggressively, and was left looking in corrupt astonishment as Hargrove opened his mouth without hesitation. Steve let the perversion take over and pulled Billy’s face right next to his length.

“What are you waiting for?” He said snidely with a cocked eyebrow, to which Billy replied with an equally sarcastic “Nothing at all”, before dragging his slick tongue across it and taking it into his warm mouth.

Steve almost cried out as Billy perfectly gave him what he wanted. He had no idea what was so different this time in comparison to all those encounters before now, either way, Steve was locked in a vortex with this man who he felt no disgust for in the slightest. He didn’t want to pull away, didn’t feel the need to fake anything, didn’t feel he had to perform… this was all _real_ ; more real than anything he has ever experienced in his entire life. It sent electricity through his body and elevated him above all he had been previously, new found pride holding Billy’s head in place.

He was getting really fucking close now and this one, fucked up time, Steve was gonna fucking enjoy it as he wanted.

 

* * *

 

 

Billy put everything he had into this blowjob, holding Steve to him by his ass with one hand, the other stroking up his abdomen under the shirt. Jesus fucking _Christ_ this guy tasted incredible and Billy wasn’t going to quit until he claimed his reward; he had to have it and he would do anything to get it.

He endured his own chastity to embrace his demons and feed the sickness he has spent so long punishing. In this space he could _enjoy_ being broken and Steve Harrington was getting off on it, knowing full well what Billy was. It forced emotion to the front rather than to the back which is usually what came from sex, and Billy spied in the future what he had searched his entire life for but had never been able to find: the potential for true fucking release.

Steve started to shiver in his grip and Billy knew it was almost time so he sped up, his tongue pressing up against Steve’s shaft as he grunted through the build up. It was then that Steve knotted his hands in Billy’s hair tightly and pushed right into the back of his throat, forcing him to gag, eyes watering. All he could do was hold himself steady and try not to be sick as Steve went in for the final round.

 

* * *

 

 

Holding Billy in place, Steve was now struggling to stay quiet. He stayed looking down at Hargrove as his face reddened, unable to breathe, and felt his lips twist into a wicked grin when the man’s body started to buck and arch.

He waited six seconds with Billy in that state, using all his strength to resist cumming when his captives throat contracted around him. When he couldn’t take any more he pulled Billy off of him fast, holding him up by his hair whilst the guy coughed and choked, tears in his eyes, saliva still connecting him to Steve.

Before Hargrove could speak, Steve pulled him back, forcing his way again further down Billy’s throat. He didn’t want to climax until there were tears there he believed, and Steve watched in fascination as the torment made the muscles in his back flex, following Billy’s hand as it moved from gripping Steve down to clasp his own cock desperately. The longer Steve held him in place asphyxiated on his length, the more riled Billy became and it was _mesmerising._

He had never seen anything like it.

Steve pulled out one last time to allow the man to regain his breath and flushed at the glazed, spaced out look in Billy’s eyes. He wanted him to go harder even though he had almost passed out, so without question Steve did as Billy’s body begged.

He pulled Billy’s head right back, lowering himself to allow his words to hold more weight over the man breathing heavily at his feet; sweat beading across his body with Steve’s pre trickling down his chin, he was desperate.

“Hands off, don’t touch yourself. You do that and I will stop.” Steve said quietly, laden with authority.

 

* * *

 

 

Billy was panting now, staring up at Harrington, stunned. His body was trembling, blood rushing back to his brain leaving him high. He needed this; needed this more than anything in the whole damn world and now his tormentor was denying him his own release. Billy did not want him to stop - he wanted Steve to keep going till he passed out, but in order to get that he would have to surrender his own release and the decision left him tortured.

Lips curled upwards, seething, Hargrove closed his eyes and tried to shake his head but the grip Steve had on his hair made it almost impossible. “You fucking… piece of shit… Fuck you!” he cursed, spitting at Steve as he did.

Steve responded by taking his hand off his dick and slapping him coldly with an open palm across the face, which to Billy’s shame just made him harder; his breathing ragged now as blood pooled beneath his skin . He glared at Steve with pure hatred, not wanting to make it his defeat this fucking easy but he was now too wasted to drag it out any longer. The combination of alcohol and almost being choked out was draining the energy right out of him, so he submitted reluctantly, removing his hands from his aching need and holding them out at his sides.

The man above him said nothing, just waited until Billy caught up and parted his lips - less eager this time in light of his sacrifice.

“Thank you.” Steve said finally, opening Billy's reluctant mouth wider with two fingers so he could effortlessly and with no disturbance, slide inside for the last time. Billy closed his eyes in secret gratitude but was very quickly thrown out of it as Steve cupped the back of his head firmly and began to fuck his throat.

Billy’s watering eyes snapped open, back arching immediately as he tried to position himself so the long and fast strokes didn’t make him vomit. He clung back onto Steve with one arm, the other holding him upright by clutching the side of the sofa. Humiliation flooded him as he felt himself twitch and drip involuntarily. The more degraded he was made to feel, the more pain he was in, the closer his own climax was becoming and he wasn’t even fucking touching himself.

This was fucking impossible. He couldn’t, this shouldn’t be possible.

Steve was breathing heavily, picking up speed and Billy began to swallow feeling Harrington’s orgasm begin.

 

* * *

 

 

A loud and urgent banging at the door froze Steve in his tracks, forcing him right out of whatever fucked up trance he was in. Reality smacked him straight in the face and he suddenly realised what was going on. The old Steve was back, shoved kicking and screaming to the present. Panicking now, he saw himself buried into Billy’s mouth and pulled his hands away instantly, trying to pull away, suddenly feeling sick. What the fuck was he doing? _What the fuck was he doing?!_

The knocking came again and he heard a worried Dustin yell cautiously from behind the door, “Steve? Hey, you okay in there? I know I said I wouldn't intervene or anything but it’s been a fucking age and I haven't seen you at all, are you okay?”.

Steve tried to step backwards, his heart racing more than he thought possible, lips moving to try and formulate a reply but his voice was breaking on the verge of orgasm.

He looked down at Billy desperately who looked right back at him unflinching, and Steve watched helplessly as the man locked his arms around his hips tightly so he couldn’t get away. 

“Steve? Will you fucking say something? I’m sorry - I fell asleep on the stupid bench, I was so fucking tired, I really didn’t mean to. Shit, are you okay?”.

“I… ah…. Shit… I am… I’m okay… It's all... Okay... Just give me a fucking minute”, Steve choked back with eyes still fixed on Billy, horrified at himself as his climax continues to build.

 _“Stop it, fucking hell, stop it! I can’t… I have to… If he see's... This is fucking wrong... no... Jesus, fucking…”_ He hissed at Billy in despair, but it was useless; the man now finishing what Steve had started.

All dominance torn from him, Steve felt completely at Billy's mercy as, with nails digging into his back, he prevented his escape; determined to get him to cum.

“Wait a minute, what the _fuck_ is going on?! You sound weird dude, talk to me!". _  
_

Steve doubled over, gripping the edge of the sofa by the side of Billy till his knuckles glared white, gasping loudly, looking straight at the far wall. His eyes burned with fearful tears as his face twisted with confliction, panicking at being seen in this moment, but that somehow made it worse and the man beneath him wasn't stopping. He was biting back agonised groans now, shaking his head and then he felt it begin, swearing now under his breath. There was nothing he could do now even if he had wanted to stop it, but truth be told... Steve didn't want Billy to stop... He was too far gone, so with eyes closed tight and teeth gritted, Steve bent his head down and went head over heels down the rabbit hole.

“Don’t…. Don’t come in! It’s… Okay, I… ah… Stay there…” He began, yelling behind him, humiliated, when suddenly he rolled forward with shoulders braced and throwing his head back, Steve cried out as he came straight down Billy’s throat.

Billy swallowed it all with ease but didn’t release him, remaining in place until Steve had completely emptied himself, applying slight suction towards the end making Steve curse and tremble.

Eventually the man circled his tongue around his dying erection and pulled away, letting go of his hips leaving Steve to collapse.

He was panting and sweating, face crimson, pupils dilated when he staggered away from Billy, staring at him stupefied because in this moment with Steve's secret on his lips, Hargrove held power. He said nothing as he frantically pulled his pants up, watching as Billy stood and wiped Steves cum from his chin with a bitter smile.

 _‘Fucking hell, this wasn’t real, what the fuck just happened?! Shit, I gotta get out of here’,_ He repeated to himself inaudibly _,_ looking away from the man leaning his back against the sofa with his hands down his pants and an eyebrow cocked in irritation. Steve didn’t know what the fuck to do or say, couldn’t think of any words whatsoever, his only recourse being to plead desperately with his eyes for permission to bolt.

“Go.” Billy said dismissively, his voice cold as he reached to grab a cigarette, looking disgusted as Steve almost fell over himself to get to the door.

Steve looked back at Billy in the darkness of his apartment wishing he could say something - anything - to somehow ease the uncomfortable tension in the room, but before his brain could string a sentence together Hargrove had the final word.

“Fuck off.”.

Cheeks on fire with shame, Steve looked at the floor. He didn’t need any further encouragement. Without so much as a second glance at Hargrove, he opened the door, rushing out of it as fast as he could before slamming it shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL! 
> 
> That happened. 
> 
> Neither of them have really resolved shit, so we are now at 'unhealthy coping stratergy 10000' - sex as deflection. This should sow little seeds as to the direction I am taking them both. Thankfully, I think I have kept enough hush-hush that when it comes to the big drama later down the line, it will still be a surprise. Effectively I want you guys to be like, "OH! OH SHIT!" and "well that makes sense" maybe a bit of "NO! Oh fuck, okay, well... jesus christ, I am going to go lay down for a while" when I drag these boys straight into hell.
> 
> The healthiness of the sex and their relationship at the start will be... left for debate, but rest assured, I ain't gonna act like the bad shit is good. But hey, we can still enjoy it in the murk of our trash cans, because the thing is, it *isnt* going to be healthy between these guys at this time. Nothing will. The safety will be built as they find safety within themselves, and so comes a crash course in entering into interpersonal relationships whilst you have your own shit yet to deal with. 
> 
> I really hope you like this chapter guys, I hope there was some relief for you before i crank up the angst and throw in more turbulence. I have drawn this scene so many damn times to get it right, it is insane. Anyway, thank you for being so patient with this - 100 pages long now, holy shit! I am working on a watercolour illustration for you lot because I always love reading your comments, so hopefully by chapter 10/11, you will have a scene from this chapter. 
> 
> Kit


	9. Blazed and Confused.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left in his apartment with nothing but a bottle of whiskey and the taste of Steve on his lips, Billy is lost. Unable to fully comprehend what has happened he gives in to the pull of alcohol again. 
> 
> On the other side of town, Dustin and Steve have done as they intended, and finally ordered their pizza. Problem is, Steve has a hickey on his neck and Dustin heard everything, so now the pair try to get through their evening in uncomfortable silence, until Dustin snaps and coaxes him to spill the beans. 
> 
> One thing's for sure, a fire has been lit and neither Billy or Steve are intent on extinguishing it just yet.

Billy waited for the door to close before swearing loudly, rolling over the edge of the sofa and lying there with his hands rubbing his face. “Why the fuck did you do that? What was the fucking point in that?” He groaned into his palm, breathing deep to take in the trace of Steve still left on him. Billy was still hard but oddly, his mind was elsewhere.

He hadn’t wanted Steve to leave, not really, it was just in that electric space with Steve’s disguise thrown in the dirt, he felt angry watching him scramble to put it on again. It was _painful_ seeing Steve try and pull away; the recollection of his panicked, desperate expression made Billy flinch, guilt consuming him as his persecutor planted the idea that it was he who forced Steve to do all this.

Billy let his hands lie limply on his stomach and peered down at the erection that was still not going away. Grimacing, he swung his legs around so he was sitting up and held the sofa with hands either side of his hips, remaining motionless for a while as his stomach settled. Billy knew realistically Steve’s reaction to hearing his friend at the door mid fucking blowjob was rational, but it still ate at him. He wondered whether he should have stopped when Steve started to pull away; it certainly would have been the ‘right’ thing to do, yet Billy was intent on whipping the rug out from underneath him, if only to see what he would do. The man was fighting so hard to not give anything away, but Steve’s whole body was screaming for release and, all rage and hatred aside, Billy wanted to be a part of that.

Brows furrowing, he kneaded his temples before staggering to his feet, ambling back to the bottle hidden under the counter. If Steve hadn’t wanted this, Billy thought still transfixed on the debate in his head, the guy wouldn’t have forced him to his knees to do what he did... Billy bit his lip as the memory made his dick twitch below him, guiding the bottle to his lips. Steve had seemed genuine in those moments, free and arrogant as he stood over him. None of his actions felt rehearsed or unnatural, none of it was a damn show and Billy recalled the look of sick fucking pleasure in those dark eyes when he was struggling to breathe… He closed his eyes, body tensing as he relived the sensations sending strong waves of arousal crashing into his bones.

Billy looked at the near empty bottle through bleary eyes, tilting it from side to side to watch the dark liquid swill around. He was pretty sure he still hated the guy, having no reason to _like_ him, but even in Steve’s shy and shameful state there was something that provoked understanding at the very least. A connection even if it was fleeting. Squinting at a singular bubble in the liquid, Billy started to regret everything he had revealed to Steve. He should’ve never said what he did; should’ve shut it down immediately and had more fucking control over himself, but pathetically Billy _wanted_ Steve to know.

He let out a long, drawn out sigh. Fuck this, Billy thought to himself as humiliation replaced all other sensations, weighing up the consequences for a moment before finishing the remainder of the bottle. He coughed doggedly, almost falling over and with hands clutching the counter he slowly and clumsily navigated his way to the sofa, collapsing over it. Dragging his legs so his entire body was held by it, Billy lay there waiting to pass out. He hated his fucking life; nothing ever made sense and it felt like he was destined to be this way forever, and yet for a small moment today, Billy felt seen. His chest ached as he traced his tongue over his lips, to see if he could still taste any evidence of Steve’s presence and his heart sank when all he could taste was alcohol.

He couldn’t make sense of any of this and he wasn’t gonna spend any more time trying to figure out what he was feeling. What’s the fucking point? Steve hated him and he hated Steve and that was the way it was _always_ gonna fucking be. Billy’s almost comatose brain began to play on repeat now the scene where Steve, horrified, had practically begged to leave and he grunted at himself as he remembered his own shitty reply, curling up tighter. He had caught a glimpse of something he’d never thought was possible before but it was the ridiculous, delusional fantasy of a fucked up idiot, so he had to banish it.

Ignoring his hard-on, he committed to giving up on his evening and going to sleep. Billy knew no relief would come from sorting himself out so why waste the damn energy. His final thoughts as he felt himself drift off was the tone in Steve’s voice as he apologised. There was genuine concern laced around those blunt words and Billy had never seen that before - in anyone. Eyelids flickering, he watched in his memories Steve standing behind him, insisting he had done Billy wrong and… trying to make him feel better. Why did Steve even care? Billy wasn’t worth shit but the fact that Steve had risked so much to say sorry triggered the smallest of smiles, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly as he finally passed out.

 

* * *

 

Leaning over to press play on the VCR, Dustin reclined back onto his pull-out and peered at Steve over the cover of the 1995 Japanese version of Ghost In The Shell. The two had barely spoken since Steve practically fell out of Billy’s apartment and given what little he had managed to hear with his ear pressed to the door, Dustin figured it probably wasn’t best to push, even so, he was still weirdly curious. No, scrap that - it was hardly curiosity at this point. Dustin was now pretty fucking sure he would die if he didn’t find out what happened behind door 13, but he was too chickenshit to bring it up. Not sober anyway; not without having devoured a fucktonne of carbs and sparking up.

At least the pizza had been a success.

Steve was busy trying to mask his disappointment at the choice of film by chewing on Dustin’s discarded pizza crusts sullenly, feigning interest as the title credits rolled over the screen. Truth be told, he couldn’t give a crap what they were watching, Dustin just needed something in the background to prevent any uncomfortable silences but he knew that they _both_ knew something was up. Trying to tear his gaze away from the very clear, bite mark now bruising on his friends neck, Dustin rolled two spliffs; one for him and one for Steve who looked to all the world like he wanted to be eaten alive by the couch.

What the hell was he supposed to say? Fucking hell, Dustin was used to managing ‘the elephant in the room’ but this felt like a goddamn dragon, making the rest of the days awkward and painful conversations seem easy in comparison, which was no mean feat.

“Wait… Hang on, it’s in Japanese?”

Now it was Dustin’s turn to be caught off guard, “Uhh, yeah, yes. I had the English dub version kicking round somewhere but I think mom binned it.” he replied, forcing himself to mimic his usual, playful smile.

Steve frowned, pointing at the TV screen with his crust, “So, what you’re saying is that this is not in English at all…”

Dustin snorted, “Aha! No, not in English but there _will_ be subtitles.”

“You actually enjoy reading the dialogue?” Steve enquired, looking at him dumbfounded.

“It’s anime dude, almost all of it comes from Japan, well the good shit anyway. You can get ‘english dubs’ but to be honest, I prefer the original versions.” Dustin presented Steve with his evening smoke ration, hiding a laugh as the man all but snatched it off of him before continuing, “This will help, trust me, it isn’t that bad. Just give it a chance, it’s revolutionary. I watched it at last years film convention where I got my original copy, but I haven’t been able to find it anywhere. The only version I could find this year was this one - the japanese one.”.

Dustin paused as he reexamined the cover and winced, looking at Steve apologetically.

“What?” His friend asked, unimpressed.

“Ahh fuck. Well, turns out this _isn’t_ subtitled.”

“What d’you mean? So there’s none of those words at the bottom of the screen then?”

He squirmed for a moment, “No… It is entirely in Japanese. No English anywhere.”.

Steve looked at him for a moment despondently before rolling his eyes and leaning over to light his smoke.

“We can watch something else, you don’t have to sit through this.”

“It’s cool, seriously, I’m not bothered.” Steve lied.

“I’ve seen this like a million times, so I can just fill you in on what you don’t understand. Just tell me if you get bored.” Dustin said, following Steve’s example and lighting his.

They both inhaled deeply; Dustin taking the time to try and blow smoke rings from his mouth, but he very quickly stopped when he noticed that his friend was hardly having a break between tokes. He remained in place, eyebrows raised as Steve stared intently at the screen, pretending to understand what was going on.

He had 2-3 ideas for what happened at Billy’s, each more implausible than the last but the more closed off Steve acted, the more Dustin was left considering the impossible.

Scenario 1: Steve was dragged into Billy’s apartment to keep a fight out of public eye, the apology having gone terribly, and the two fought again. Somehow in the midst of the confusion, Billy must’ve played dirty and bit Steve on the neck and… yeah.

Dustin thought hard and shook his head. No, that didn’t explain Steve’s reaction upon leaving the apartment. The man had been breathing heavily, sweating and blushing like crazy, eyes wild as he spotted Dustin before he looked away immediately. He remembered noticing how dishevelled his friends clothes were, and how he was trying to be subtle in checking the buttons on his shorts. What’s more, Steve could hardly speak, giving one word answers to all of Dustin’s questions as he kept peering over his shoulder back to door 13.

Dustin gingerly reached to steal a cookie from the box, moving slow to not draw attention to himself, now very paranoid Steve could read his thoughts. He exhaled slowly, relieved that his friend was obviously so wrapped up in his own inner drama that in this moment, Dustin simply didn’t exist to him. He munched slowly on the cookie, looking at the bite mark again.

Here was an idea he didn’t want to be the case but… considering how very much like a hickey that mark looked, he couldn’t rule it out. Scenario 2: Billy retaliated in kind and assaulted Steve. Having lured Steve into his home, the asshole listened to his apology and was so fucking mad that he pinned Dustin’s friend to the wall and made him cum as Steve had done, but this time Billy gave him a mark so he couldn’t forget - one he knew Steve would be humiliated by.

Feeling momentarily disgusted at the detail Dustin’s brain painted this possibility in, he swallowed his discomfort to let it sit in his head for a bit. Surely though, if that had been the case, Steve would have been a bit more tearful, explosive… Anything… Dustin imagined that if Hargrove _had_ forced Steve into anything, especially after his revelations this past month, Steve would have been very quick to insult the guy when Dustin did, but surprisingly enough his friend actually defended him. Not obviously of course, just little clues here and there to imply that Billy hadn’t done anything wrong until he had replied to Dustin’s questioning with “Look, I’ve said it over and over, nothing happened. He didn’t do anything, he tried to listen. I don’t want to talk about Billy anymore, just.. Listen to me when I say he didn’t do anything and nothing is wrong.”.

That was _very_ different to Steve just downplaying the situation like he did before; that was almost like him putting up an invisible shield around the guy to prevent Dustin from getting the wrong idea, but if that was the case, _what was the right idea?_

“I dunno if I am getting this all wrong but I am pretty sure a guys voice just came out of that girl cyborgs body - I’m not going mad am I? What’s that about?”

Dustin answered on autopilot, “There’s a character called Puppetmaster in this that can like, hijack brains and is a bit like a terrorist. He has been causing havoc all throughout the film, I hadn’t realised we were this far in, holy shit. Have you managed to follow anything at all?”

“Not really, I get that the dark haired one is a cyborg and seems to be some kind of military police type person, and there is this big government or maybe company conspiracy thing surrounding these robots, but I really don’t know. I just like the scenes, y’know? All the backdrops and moody atmosphere. It’s really cool. I generally hate anime but this one is alright art wise.” Steve replied, still not looking at Dustin.

Good grief, he thought to himself. How stressed is this guy?! Steve had depth but rarely did he show it; he was the type of person who, if something was boring or not up to his usual standard, that would be it - complete blank or he would start doing something else entirely. This Steve, however, was actively trying to immerse himself into a freaking film that spoke no english, had no subtitles, was very bizarre, had naked ladies everywhere… and he had bypassed _all_ of that to try and limply follow plot, focusing on the ‘moody atmosphere’ above all else.

“No, I know, it’s one of the main reasons I love this film; visually it is incredible, Mamoru Oshii is a fucking genius.” Dustin left the floor open for Steve to enter into more of a dialogue but he resumed his brooding silence, relighting his joint and ignoring him again.

Shit. Okay. Well I guess that’s how it is then, Dustin thought to himself, leaning right back into the corner of the pull-out, returning to his internal musings.

So, if the pair didn’t fight and Hargrove hadn’t jumped him, it left one option; the biggest plot twist. Steve and Billy did… shit… and Steve enjoyed it. He couldn’t for the life of him imagine how that scene would have played out, but it explained everything. From Steve’s confused, embarrassed discomfort, checking his flies were done up, not making eye contact, all the way to the bite mark and the _very clear_ sounds his friend had made when he was trying to tell Dustin to fuck off.

He squirmed remembering what he heard. It wasn’t that it grossed him out or anything, he just wasn’t expecting it and he knew exactly what that exclamation was. Dustin did his best to try and ignore it and write it off as something else, but that was impossible now.

Holy _sh it._

Did they fuck? Dustin inhaled deep on the remainder of his smoke, his mind running faster than a freight train. Did Steve fuck Billy or did Billy fuck Steve? Did they do something else? Does Steve… Is Steve?… woah, okay, yes, that would make a lot of sense. He felt his whole body itch to find the answer out; to pin his friend down and get the information out of his head by any bloody means to satisfy his selfish, burning ache for answers. Curiosity was a bitch for Dustin and he knew no matter how hard he fought it, he would have to know the truth so it was up to him, again, to break the silence and get his friend to confess.  
  


* * *

 

Steve had felt like a zombie since leaving Billy’s apartment. This fucking day, this _fucking day,_ 22nd of July 1996 - it was out to kill him he was sure of it. Steve had gone into full sensory/mental overload with various parts of his brain and body shutting off completely. All he wanted to do was get as high as fucking possible and disappear, yet Dustin was making that very hard. He knew the guy was staring at him, knew he was staring at the bite mark on his neck but Steve could do nothing to distract his attention without making it obvious what he was doing.

He wanted to tell him; wanted to grab Dustin and just scream at him what happened so it was all out there. Tell him he just had the best orgasm of his entire life, that it was like nothing else he had ever experienced even though he’d had plenty of sex, that Billy - that Billy looked _stunning_ and he couldn’t get him out of his mind… But Steve was terrified. Frightened about what this all meant and more so, that Dustin would be disgusted at him. He had no reason to suspect this of him, but Steve wasn’t that much of an idiot. He knew what the world was like.

It was like a veil was lifting and Steve was stuck between wanting to yank it back down, or charge out from beneath it to see what was on the other side. Everywhere he looked as he had walked anxiously from Billy’s home were more answers, and now with this stupid, fucking anime where there were tits all over the place, he found himself trying to replace them with Hargroves body. This was a goddamn nightmare. It made too much sense and Steve was not fucking okay with it.

The tension pushed him into trying to talk about the film, but he couldn’t hold the conversation. He could feel Dustin’s building agitation at Steve’s moodiness and he knew at some point, this would be discussed. Steve looked at his smoke, noticed it was basically spent and chanced asking Dustin for more.

“Dude, can I grab another? You don’t have to, I just, is that okay?”

Steve watched him sluggishly lean to grab his rolling tray and did his best to read Dustin’s body language, but all he managed to see was his friend being stoned and obliging. “Y’sure? You look like you need it, but y’know, after this morning, are you sure you wanna go to _that_ place?”.

“It won’t be like that, promise, just wanna chill the fuck out.” Steve replied, his voice tinged with shame.

Dustin kept his eyes on the smoke he was rolling as he spoke, “That bad huh? What’s up?”.

Steve’s stomach seized immediately. Shit. Dustin was going in for the kill now. He had to get out of there, right now, or he would end up telling him everything.

“Nothing, uh, I gotta go to the bathroom, I haven’t been in like 3 hours.” He was already on his feet and making it to the door as he finished his sentence, trying to not run out the room.

“Um, Okay yeah sure, do what you have to do.”

 

Steve clutched the bathroom sink for dear life. He felt sick, trapped in boiling water as this day continued to unravel him. He looked at the hands that only a few hours earlier held Billy’s head in place as the man choked on him and Steve shuddered, screwing his face up as his hair fell over his eyes. There were two issues he needed to understand; the powerplay and his fucking need to see Billy in that weird delirious pain, and the fact that Billy was a _man_ , something that _should_ have put him off but instead, made it more intense.

Peering in the mirror, he looked at a face he hardly recognised but didn’t hate, and whispered, “I’m… not gay, am I?”. His reflection looked scared but weirdly relieved to hear the words spoken aloud. Steve shook his head, ran the cold tap to fill the bowl, and put that dazed face straight into the water. He remained there, deaf and blind to a world that confused the shit out of him, holding his breath as much as he could before coming up for air with a loud gasp. He looked back in the mirror, tilting his neck to inspect Billy’s mark on him and stroked two fingers over it gently, pressing down to feel the bruise ache; the action bringing him straight back to the feeling of Hargrove’s stubble grazing against him and the warm hand massaging his-

No. No, stop it, Steve scolded himself, burying himself into a towel to dry off.

“You alright in there Steve?” He heard Dustin yell from his room. Fucking hell. Steve knew he couldn’t hide this from his friend forever, the guy was too perceptive and chances are he already suspected it. He would have to run with it, but Steve had no idea how to even start discussing this.

He took a moment to pray and beg whatever cosmic forces were listening for Dustin to not lose his shit or hate him, and still holding the towel, Steve left the bathroom ready-ish to face reality.

 

* * *

 

This was it. Dustin licked the paper holding Steve’s ‘medicine’ in place and looked at his toes poking through the hole in his alien socks. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, he _had to know._ Dustin wouldn’t tell a soul if Steve chose to tell him, he would guard whatever secrets he had to the grave but he needed to know them first.

As his friend entered the room, Dustin noticed the red face and dripping hair. What in the hell? “Fond of that towel huh?” He said, directing Steve’s attention to the oldstyle pink rag he held to his chest. The man’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly apart in a complete stupor. Dustin watched as Steve seemed to drift past him to sit slowly down again. He still wasn’t letting go of the towel.

Dustin held out the smoke, “As ordered, a premium quality blunt straight from casa-de-Henderson.”.

Steve didn’t laugh or smile, just reached to the side to take it slowly and with a gaze locked onto the screen, he mumbled a short ‘thanks’.

Dustin looked at his joint and thought better of it, putting it down on the table gently. The words were lodged in his throat alongside his heart that was pounding like a fucking drum.

It was time; he couldn’t contain himself anymore. “Look, can we just cut all this weird silence and talk? What the fuck happened in there Steve?”.

His friend turned his head, his expression borderline unreadable, “I told you, nothing happened.”

“Well that’s total bullshit and you know it.” Dustin snorted.

“What does it matter if anything did happen? Why do you need to know?” Steve said, his voice trying to be cold but failing.

“I dunno. I don’t _need_ to know anything man, but I sure as hell want to know. I wanna know what has gotten you like this and how…” He trailed off, looking at the ceiling to avoid looking at Steve’s neck again.

“How what?”.

“How _that_ happened.” He replied, pointing at the bruise.

Steve grew pale as he took the joint out his mouth and looked at Dustin square in the eye. The man floundered but didn’t reply, eyebrows raised high in disbelief at Dustin’s bluntness.

“Don’t freak out, what the fuck am I gonna do huh? Nothing. Just… hear me out. You come out of there, the way you did, with a very definite hickey on your neck, sweating and not saying a word. I heard… you… in there with him. I… Know those sounds dude. I haven’t said anything because I was trying to be polite but I can’t do it anymore, I can’t keep pretending nothing happened.”

White as a sheet now, Steve looked cornered. Dustin registered tears build in those big brown eyes and with that, he began to consider that possibly Scenario 2 was the real game; why else would Steve be so fucking scared to tell him? Shit. He would fucking _kill_ Billy if he hurt his friend that way, fucking asshole. His friend remained silent, not moving a muscle so Dustin did the only thing he could think of and continue.

“Did he hurt you? Y’know, like… how you did to him? You can tell me-”

Steve cut him off immediately, voice shaken but firm, “No, nothing like that. He didn’t hurt me.”

“So what did he do? Why are you so fucking scared? What are you so afraid of?”

Bending over himself, head between his legs, Steve held his hands over his head, his joint dropping ash onto his hair. Dustin considered for a moment that Steve could be lying, but Steve didn’t lie. Not like this anyway, not now he was starting to grasp his right to consent. It had to be Scenario 3.

“I am not gonna judge you Steve, why the hell would I do that? I couldn’t care less if you were gay or -”

“I’M NOT… I’m not fucking gay” Steve shouted, sitting up suddenly, his whole body tensed. “I’m not fucking gay, it’s just…”

“Just what?” Dustin replied, now pretty fucking sure he was right.

“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know anymore.”

“Well, why don’t you start with telling me what happened with Billy?” He tried cautiously.

Steve thought about it and took two deep drags from his smoke, looking to the screen that was now rolling end credits. “Shit… happened.”

“I know that much” Dustin retorted, slightly impatient, _“_ _Wha t_ happened?”

His friend looked at him pleadingly, a final attempt to convince Dustin to let him keep this secret, but he had well and truly given in to his curiosity.

“Spill.”.

 

* * *

 

Steve wasn’t sure if he would ever forgive Dustin for the pressure he was putting him under. It was obvious that he was in distress, that Steve did not want to talk about _any_ of this, but Dustin continued anyway. Did he not fucking care?

He felt anger replace the fear slowly as once again, he felt invaded by his friend. Silencing his hidden desire to be honest about Billy, he rounded on Dustin, guns blazing.

“Fuck off, no. I don’t have to tell you anything asshole. It’s none of your goddamn business, keep your nose out of my shit.” He snapped harshly.

Dustin raised his hands, shocked, trying to interject but Steve continued.

“You have done this all fucking day; ‘Do this’, ‘Do that’, and the continual badgering me to talk, I mean, Jesus Christ, did you ever for a moment consider that I didn’t want to talk about any of this? About my past, that fucking bitch Sharon, about Billy? Why do you have to _push so fucking much?_ Is this what you want huh? Me freaking out and panicking all the damn time, because you are doing a fucking spectacular job of keeping me this way! Does it give you some fucked up sense of achievement if you get all this outta me? I am not a _project_ _,_ back the FUCK off me.”

Red faced, Dustin stood over Steve, slamming the TV off that had since run to white noise. “Don’t give me any of that ‘pity me’ bullshit. Don’t fucking demonise me. You seem to forget I am your friend, something I’m sincerely regretting. I ask because I _care_ you idiot, talking is _normal,_ it is what friends _do!_ What planet are you living on right now? What did you think I was gonna do? I heard you _fucking_ in there Steve, I heard you! What am I supposed to say right now? One minute you are both trying to kill each other, then you are terrified of him and somehow on your mission to apologise, you disappear into his flat and _fu-”_

Steve stood and faced Dustin, chest heaving, “We weren’t _fucking_ , nice little assumption there, ten outta ten, we-”

“It certainly _sounded_ like you were fucking, sounded like you came - that’s what I heard, so go on, just admit it. You guys fucked.” Dustin said, eyes flickering as he watched Steve intently.

“WE DIDN’T FUCK!” Steve yelled, kicking the table hard. “We didn’t fuck, it was just fucking _head, you asshole!”_

Dustin paused, arms folded with an eyebrow cocked. Steve flushed as he realised what he confessed to, and instantly loathed his friend for tricking him.

“You piece of _shit!”_ he exclaimed, scrabbling to find a lighter, hands running through his hair. “You fucking _tricked_ me into telling you. _My fucking God, what the hell?!”_

“Did you like it?”

Steve faltered at the question his friend asked so calmly, once again looking startled, choking on the smoke. “ _Excuse me?”_

“I said, did you like it?”

“What does that have to do with anything” Steve stammered.

“An awful lot by the looks of things.”.

Steve looked at him levelly, trying to calm down from his explosion, reading no mockery in his friends eyes, just genuine interest. Well I am here now, may as well fucking go for it. “I guess.”

Dustin smiled subtly, “You guess?”

“Fucking… fine. Yes, I liked it.” Steve snapped back grumpily.

“Okay, so… how did it happen?” Dustin asked, sitting back on the sofa, gesturing for Steve to join him again.

Steve did as Dustin wanted, sighing in exasperation. “I am not entirely sure.”

His friend reached for his smoke and Steve fiddled with the grinder anxiously, waiting for Dustin’s next question.

“Well, did you apologise at least?” He encouraged.

“Yeah, he invite me inside to talk which was weird but I went in. He fucked off into the kitchen and it was awkward for a while, but he kinda came back in, sat on the sofa, turned the freaking music off and asked me to talk.” Steve’s shoulders eased a little as he leant back into the sofa.

Dustin put a finger to his lips in thought, “I did not expect that at all.”

“Neither did I.”

“Okay, so, how did he take it?”

Steve squirmed a bit and stared at the grinder he was now picking at with his nails. “It’s hard to explain. He kinda exploded; started yelling about how it was his fault and had nothing to do with me.”

“Really? Why would it be _his_ fault?” Dustin asked, genuinely confused.

Blushing, Steve continued, “Well… uh, I dunno how to explain it, I don’t fucking understand it, but uh… well, he kinda… made me feel how hard he was-”

“Wait, what?! Okay, I have a few questions for another day, but he was _hard?”_

“Yeah man, the guy was in tears, bordering hysterical. I haven’t seen someone in so much pain Dustin, he was _tortured_ , but he was hard. And he made me feel it. And told me he ‘ _wanted to be assaulted’,_ that it was his disease and that he deserved it.”

Dustin leaned back on the sofa, puffing his cheeks. “The plot thickens” he murmured aloud, massaging his temples. “So, what you’resaying is, he was turned on by what you did to him?”

“He… he said he got off on being hurt. That he got turned on by being in pain, and that he _liked_ it.”

Steve was looking at his trembling hands, knowing how fucked up this entire thing sounded and fearing telling Dustin the final act. Wait until he fucking found out that Billy wasn’t alone in this batshit perversion.

 

* * *

 

Dustin felt like he was watching some after watershed soap-opera. This was _unreal_ but was completely plausible at the same time. Steve’s drama at the minute was harrowing yes, but it was also exciting and he was hooked.

“Billy’s a masochist?” he asked Steve, dumbfounded.

“A what?”

“A masochist; someone who gets aroused by being hurt or humiliated. It’s a thing.”

“What d’you mean, ‘a thing’?” Steve asked, his face a desperate mess.

Dustin was shocked Steve didn’t know the term, nor did he realise that the whole world of BDSM was so alien to the man. He was younger than Steve and for some reason, Dustin presumed this meant he must know more than him by default. Evidently this was not the case. It was almost 11pm; 13 hours since he found Steve in his shithole, and here he was, about to explain sadomasochism to his best friend. This was one of the most surreal experiences of his life, which was saying something considering he had literally been to other dimensions and fought monsters not from this planet.

“Do you know what BDSM is? Like, have you heard the term?”

Steve tilted his head to the side and nodded, “I know the term, isn’t it handcuffs and shit like that?”

Dustin laughed. This was almost cute now. “Haha, you could say that, but there is a lot more to it. It covers bondage, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism. A whole world of deviances that are actually, fairly normal, depending on severity.”.

He watched Steve’s baffled face twist as he tried to make sense of it all. “Wait, this is _normal?”_

“Well… not normal like enjoying sex normal, I just mean BDSM isn’t some big scary whatever - actually scrap that, it can be… But usually the people involved _like_ the big scary, if that makes sense.”

“So you’re saying Billy Hargrove is a masochist, and that isn’t a bad thing?”

Dustin thought about his answer carefully, “Masochism in and of itself isn’t bad, but it is never that simple. From what I know, it can be dangerous and destructive for the person experiencing it, I mean can you imagine how fucking crazy that is to contend with? Everytime you get hurt or whatever your body responds like that, completely out of your control? Or knowing that out of all sex can give you, being hit and punished will always feel better than ‘normality’? It isn’t a bad thing that Billy is a masochist, but where that takes him or how he deals with that may be.”

Dustin was temporarily surprised at his own knowledge and the empathy he was capable of showing towards Billy in this moment, but he was starting to get too high to care. Somehow knowing this about Hargrove changed the story entirely.

“Oh fuck, jesus, right okay. How do you even know all this stuff?”

“I, my friend, am a _nerd_ , I live for games, roleplay, films and anime. Trust me, I know what BDSM is.” He laughed back, noticing as Steve began to blush again. Dustin caught it instantly. “What?”

“Uh, okay, so is sadism the flipside to masochism?”

“Yeah, where a masochist gets aroused their own pain and humiliation, a sadist will get aroused by another's, to the point of inflicting it and enjoying it.”

Steve’s cheeks moved to a deeper red and he shrank. “Is it possible to be both?”

“Yup. I think the term is ‘switch’ or simply you would be a sadomasochist.”.

Dustin studied his friend, starting to put two and two together. This was exhilarating, he had to know more and Steve was getting loose-tongued enough now to give him just what he wanted. “Why did you want to know?” He asked, sly as a cat.

Steve groaned, “It’s just… fuck, I dunno how to say it, well, aaah… okay, I was turned on. I was turned on when I hurt him the other time too and I couldn’t stop thinking about it man, I knew it was fucking horrible but I couldn’t switch it off. I had to pull away from him because it was… obvious” He said, gesturing anxiously to his lower half.

 _“Really?”_ Dustin exclaimed, resisting the urge to rub his hands together as the details kept coming in, “Holy shit dude. So you were hard after _he_ was hard, what turned you on exactly? What did you do?”

“I dunno, I don’t fucking know. It was everything; Him. He turned me on. His… tears turned me on. He looked genuinely in pain, shit… I sound like a _fucking_ idiot, but it was beautiful. I just tried to hide everything but…”

“He noticed right?”

“Yeah…” Steve replied, looking away again.

“So what happened?”

“He… He kissed me.”

Dustin’s eyebrows shot through the roof, his face lighting up as he clapped his hands together. Steve looked at him bewildered.

“What was _that_ for?”

“I dunno, sorry, ignore me, carry on.”

Steve sighed and sat up, looking at Dustin. “Ok fuck it, have the whole stupid thing.” He began, sick of how long this was being drawn out. “Billy kissed me, I didn’t push him away. He then went to touch me, and I didn’t stop him. And then it changed.”

“How so? What do you mean, changed?”

“I changed. The same thing that took over at the fucking fight… That feeling, but different. I… took control.”

“What, in a dominant way?”

“Huh? Yeah I think so, I dunno, I wasn’t really thinking about it at all. I just made him… do the thing.”

Dustin’s eyes narrowed to slits, ready to deck his friend if he had made the same mistake again, “Not like before right?”

“No! No… He was into it. Well he seemed very into it.”

“Were you?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck me dude, this is madness. _You_ made it happen? Is that how you… y’know?”

“Uh, well, at that point, I tried to pull away because you were there, but he finished it.” Steve was so red now he almost blended in with the towel he had put on his face dramatically.

“How did all that feel? Like, in comparison to… others?”

“Better. So much better. I actually enjoyed it. I didn’t know I could feel like that.”

Dustin felt a surge of affection for his friend figuring this shit out, it made him feel good that Steve had felt good, even if it was just for a moment. “What about Billy?”.

Steve poked a tired eye out over the towel before lowering it to speak. “Huh? What about him?”

“What do you think of him? He’s the one involved - You had to have felt something.”

Steve brought his hands up so he could see them clearly again, his face relaxing gradually and Dustin watched as he slowly turned them over  “I still hate him. I think. I have no reason to like him, but I dunno…” He trailed off, still examining his palms, sinking sleepily into Dustin’s ridiculous cushions.

“I don’t think you need a reason to like someone. I don’t think it works like that sometimes.”

Steve yawned and said nothing.

“I will say this though, it would make a lot of fucking sense if you did like guys dude-”

“I don’t like guys.” Steve retorted as defensively as he could, but his words were slurring.

“Okay, alright, you don’t like guys. All I am saying is, think about it. There is nothing wrong with being gay y’know, it is allowed. It’s the 90’s, things are different now. You don’t have to decide to be anything but just, consider the possibility without beating yourself up for it.”

 

* * *

 

Steve was now pretty fucking blazed. The day had taken its toll for sure and he was fast running out of the stamina needed to keep up with Dustin’s inquisition. He could hardly keep his eyes open, but even so, Steve didn’t want to go home.

He didn’t want to be alone, not tonight.

Too much had gone on; discussing Sharon and his past in such detail had left him feeling fragile though he would never admit it, and Steve knew it would come back in his nightmares. He just wanted to stay next to someone who was safe, who could keep talking until he fell asleep and in doing so, not giving the voices a chance to come back.

Dustin was still babbling on, something about gay subcultures and their growing representation in film, but Steve was hardly listening now. In this sleepy space bordering on the unconscious, he felt Billy kissing him. Steve tried to build a nest out of some of the laundry and pillows kicking around, propping them up on the corner of the pull-out, and grabbed a bathrobe of Dustin’s to use as a blanket, covering himself in it.

In the darkness under his makeshift bedding, with his friend wittering on and the TV playing again, Steve returned to apartment 13. He closed his eyes to feel the coolness in that room and the warmth of Billy’s skin against him, this time allowing his hands to feel the mans chest and the human heart beating beneath the skin. If he had gained just one thing from this entire day, it was that both Hargrove and himself were human - very much so. He didn’t understand the depths of either of their demons, but somehow in that dimly lit room, both were permitted to play and face off against each other.

He had _seen_ Billy's shadow; just a glimpse of it, and Steve was in awe. What’s more, Billy had seen Steve’s… The one he had spent years trying to suffocate and punish. At each others hands, they had both given each other permission to exist. All feelings and question of sexuality aside, Steve was forgiven his urges and allowed them, but whilst he relished the power in holding Billy that way, it was the kiss that left his heart light.

“You okay over there bud? Y'still listening?” Steve heard Dustin say on the other side of his DIY blanket before deciding it was best to pretend to be asleep. He listened out for his friends movements and smiled warmly to himself as Steve felt the weight of a proper bedcover laid gently on him. “I dunno how you made it through today. You've been through _hell_ , you deserve a decent rest, but _Jesus Christ_ Steve; Billy? Why does it have to be Billy fucking Hargrove. Fuck me.” Dustin whispered quietly as he tried to cozy on his side of the bed without disturbing Steve, settling in to watch X-Files.

Steve’s breathing grew steadily heavier as he felt safer, his weary mind trying to answer Dustin’s question in solitude.

Why Billy?

The only answer he was given before he drifted away was a small video reel of Billy on his knees before him - the man's tarnished gold hair rolling over his sculpted shoulders as he looked up at Steve with those abysall, sea-blue eyes, glistening and framed perfectly by dark lashes; his teeth exposed as he smiled wickedly, pink tongue darting to catch the last of Steve's cum on his lips.

It wasn't a fantasy, it was real. That look... That act... It was all _real_ , it fucking happened and Steve was hooked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyones patience. 
> 
> I have had a very trying few weeks on top of a catastrophic few months and had to do some huge things at the weekend. I don't like being late with chapters, but it feels good to be back to it. There is a tonne of dialogue in this which has been a test - before I started writing, I was shit at dialogue so I hope I have done you all proud here. Billy only got a fraction of the attention here, but he will be our prime focus in chapter 10. Creating balance is *tough*. I really hope i cut back on the repetition, I was concerned that by having these guys revisit the scene between the pair it would drag, but in the end I am sticking with it. There is something thrilling in telling your best friend this kinda stuff, but also great fear in it too, as their opinions mean more to you than anyone else. I have been working hard on the friend relationship to try and get a normal, healthy bond in there, and it is always a joy to write dustin/steve, even when the topics are hard because there is genuine plutonic/brotherly love between them. 
> 
> So there we have it, Chapter 9 up and running, Chapter 10 being concieved and an author getting ready to shed some light on Hargrove's life post Steve's switch.
> 
> love you all
> 
> kit


	10. Vice.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reckless and with only his Persecutor for company, Billy is driven down dark paths. Unable to move past his 'addiction', he starts to become a slave to it and is forced to lay in the bed he made for himself, choking on the mattress. His destination? He doesn't even care. With a reputation now preceeding him, Billy begins to understand the error in bringing his self destruction to his workplace, but thankfully there are those that still care enough to laugh with him. 
> 
> So begins Hargove's torturous fall into the abyss; a journey so insular and clouded, the sinister happenings in Hawkin's barely catch his attention as he tries to make the longing go away.

“I was starting to think you were never gonna get your break,” The man whispered, slipping his briefcase against the restroom cubicle wall, “thought you were stringing me on for a while, must’ve spent a fortune at the bar waiting.”

Billy slunk in behind the stranger, closing the door behind him with the back of his foot. “I bet.” He replied bluntly.

The fluorescent lighting flickered, hardly illuminating the babbling man standing in front of him shifting in his cheap blue suit. The guy had been pushing for him since the beginning of his shift, finding any opportunity to slip Billy a compliment and the whole experience had grown nauseating. Starting with strong drinks but since moving to soda to find any excuse to wait; it was clear what he wanted.

“I’m Chris, I don’t know if I said already, you’re Billy right?” He said, extending a hand in greeting which Billy ignored.

“That’s me.” He replied, keeping his replies concise, not wanting to give this guy the wrong impression about his intentions. Billy was unsure at this point how Chris figured out his name, but he was 6 hours into his shift and he couldn’t care less. Pressing his back to the cubicle wall, he inhaled slowly and screwed his nose up. Billy had done a full deep clean earlier that day so thankfully, the general odour wasn’t too repellent, but he didn’t want to be in here any longer than he needed to. Billy’s olfactory senses were very acute and yet, even with the windows open, the smell of the urinal still distracted him.

“You absolutely sure no one will come in?”

Agitated, Billy rolled his eyes out of sight of the man who was unbuttoning his suit jacket. He couldn’t be certain if he trusted Chris’s personality at this point, everything felt rehearsed somehow, but then again, it was just a hookup. “Dead sure, the bar is practically empty, and the other guys are more likely to piss outside than in here.”.

“What if someone hears us?”

Billy snorted loudly, moving to undo the last of Chris’s buttons, “Then we get our heads kicked in, so let’s just shut up eh?”. The body he was presented with was nothing special; average build, white man in his late 30’s. The meticulous grooming had obviously stopped from the neck down, laziness in his opinion, but he tried to mask his disappointment.

Chris began to return the favor, unbuttoning Billy’s black shirt to expose his chest and ran a clammy hand from his collarbone to Hargroves stomach where he paused abruptly. “Shit, what happened?” He said, his voice curious rather than concerned as he stroked a finger along Billy’s scarring.

“Nothing.” Came the reply as Billy smacked Chris’s hands away.

The man grew persistent, seeming drawn to marks. He tried to move his hands back where they were, pressing his lower body against Billy’s but he was halted in his tracks as one was caught in a strong grip. Digging his thumb into Chris’s wrist, Billy heard the man wince but thought nothing of it, choosing to redirect his attention to the semi he had concealed.

“Were you - Have you been _stabbed?_ How long ago? They feel old, can’t have been recently, what-”

Pissed off, Billy kissed the man hard on his thin lips to shut him up, a decision he very quickly regretted as he caught wind of Chris’s odour. He didn’t smell bad, just clinical, like he had buffed and polished himself before he came out. There was no sensory evidence of a body lived in and this disturbed him. He liked breathing in the person he was with, but all he got from Chris was a nose full of Polo Sport and laundry detergent.

Chris was lackluster in his movement following the kiss; regimented in the way his hands moved across his body to the point Billy began to question whether the guy was even invested in this. He had waited long enough, so his reserved physical interactions puzzled him. Billy wasn’t interested in coyness or being part of some city guys sexual exploration, it turned him off. Staring at the ceiling, he tried to ignore Chris and will his erection to hang in there, but it was hopeless. This man was about as enticing as the bland, eggshell shirt he was wearing.

“I can suck you off if you’d rather?” Chris offered, his cloying smile sickly sweet. Billy considered this for a moment, not entirely sure he wanted the guys mouth anywhere near his genitals but they had started now, so where was the harm?

“Sure, whatever.” He replied despondently and watched in disgusted amazement as Chris inspected the floor, grabbing a few sheets of tissue to lay on the stained tiles so he could kneel without getting his pants dirty. Looking down at the ridiculous sight, Billy knew this would be a lost cause, but Chris was going for it anyway. He tore his gaze away quickly and leant his head against the cubicle wall, still trying to immerse himself, but it was hopeless.

Hands flexing at his sides, Billy refused to touch the man who was butchering this blowjob. He’d had many over the past 6 weeks he was working at the bar, but none of them were _boring_. Billy wasn’t exactly sure how you could make one boring and yet here was Chris, delivering the dullest and quite frankly, the wettest blowjob he’d ever experienced.

It was Chris’s groaning that killed it.

“Stop.” Billy said firmly.

Chris pulled off of him, looking up at Hargrove with confused, doe like eyes, “Stop? Why?”.

Billy stepped around the man and tucked himself back into his pants. “This isn’t going to work.”.

“What do you mean, ‘not going to work’?” Chris replied angrily under his breath, hands reaching to take back Billy’s cock.

“Get off me, look,” Billy began, sighing and trying to do his best impression of compassion, “It’s not you, it’s me.” He lied, gagging inside as the cliched words left his mouth.

“But I -”

“Just fuck off, okay? This has nothing to do with you, go away.” Billy whispered, not giving anything away as he turned to open the cubicle door, waiting for Chris to get the hint and leave.

Chris began to laugh and leaned forward to push the door shut again. Moving to his feet, he brushed the lint from his now disordered suit and slicked his hair back. Billy followed him cautiously, adrenaline sparking in his gut. Something wasn’t right.

“This is complete fucking bullshit, you know that? This whole ‘charade’ you have going on, it’s a total joke.” Chris sniggered, causing Billy’s brows to furrow. “I waited 5 fucking hours man, 5 hours. They said you were _ea sy .”_

Billy flinched, shocked and offended, trying to get his head around the man’s sudden reversal in character. His heart was racing, unsure what was going on and to his shame he noticed fear in the base of his spine. “They? Who’s ‘they’?” He enquired, trying to keep his tone level.

Letting out a short bark of laughter, Chris looked at Billy pityingly, “The others, don’t play dumb, you know who I am talking about.” he extended his hand back to Billy’s crotch, smiling smugly as he felt the lingering hardness, “You’ve built quite a reputation for yourself here, word spreads fast Hargrove.”.

He moved fast, swinging an arm up to yank Chris’s shirt until his footing slipped and he fell backwards, at which point Billy shoved him forwards hard. “How the _fuck_ do you know my name? Who else knows?”

Chris looked up at the man towering over him but he displayed no fear, just continued laughing. Billy began to panic; he knew he hadn’t been thinking right the past month but now his carelessness was coming back to bite him. Hard.

A caustic voice crooned from the back of his brain, forcing him to tense, _‘You’re a whore Billy.” ._

Blushing, he felt the familiar burning build in his abdomen as humiliation ate at him. Swatting away the unwelcome guest in his head, he did his best to focus on calming down fast. “What are ‘they’ saying about me?” Billy tried, backing away from his opponent and folding his arms in an attempt to conceal his alarm.

“The truth? Word is, you’re an easy fuck. That you put out. That all I would need to do is butter you up the right way, flatter you and then you’d be game.”. Chris began to stand, that psuedo-kind face warping into something considerably more sinister.

“How did you-” Billy began, but was cut off with another of those loud laughs.

“This is a small town surrounded by other equally small and shitty towns. Anyone on a commute comes through here, stopping at the same seedy bars and motels. How many gay men do you reckon live in this area? Not much, certainly none that are as accessible and easy to find as you. I heard about you through 3 seperate people, some of them had found you through word of mouth as well. How _stupid_ are you? I thought this was your _thing_.”

Billy was flooded with shame and regret, his anger at Chris dying down as he started to see the legacy he had forged for himself.

_“You’re a fucking whore and he knows it. They all know it. What about dad, does he know it?”_

Breathing through his mouth, he turned away from Chris to stare at the ceiling, but his persecutor stared right back.

_“It’s almost a shame you don’t have a pussy, you could make a fucking fortune. They’re here because they want to fuck you Billy, because they know you couldn’t give a shit anymore.”_

Billy cleared his throat, growing increasingly unstable within himself as his shade picked at the seams holding his disguise together.

_“Look what we have here… See? You love this, you love the attention. I see you, you need this, this is all you are good for. The only thing worth praising.”_

“I see.” Billy said eventually, his eyes not meeting Chris’s mocking grin as he detached himself from his self-interrogation.

He considered storming straight out, knocking the bastard to the floor and giving him such a fight the stupid asshole would never fuck again… But his arousal was crying out louder than his rage and whilst Chris repulsed him, if he left right now, there would be no resolution and Billy would be left in agony. He felt trapped and as always, the only guidance he had came from the disembodied personification of self loathing that was trying to push his hips towards the stranger.

 _“Play the role Billy, you know what to do. Play him, get what you need. It won’t happen otherwise. You_ _need_ _this, I won’t let you leave until you get it. Perform, snare him, get him to take you. Steal it from him. You wanna hurt? Then get hurt.”._

“Well, if that’s the case,” Billy started, taking off the hair tie from his wrist, “You can start by dropping the nice guy act. That won’t work. You’re a shit actor and it doesn’t look good on you.”. Tying his hair back and looking Chris square in the eye.

Chris faltered. Taken aback by the quick recovery and unsure what to do, he tried to defend himself, “It wasn’t an a-”

“Don’t waste your breath. I know your type, give it up, it’s over.” Billy squared up to the man who really didn’t look so big now, before continuing, “If you want to fuck me, grow a pair and ask.”.

Shrugging his suit jacket off and hanging it on the door hook, Chris smirked at Billy, trying to project an air of superiority by rolling his shirt sleeves up and standing with his legs apart. Billy didn’t move.

“Are you going to say anything or shall I just fucking go?” He said snidely, gesturing to the door. “I don’t have long and I have better things I could be doing.”.

Chris straightened himself, clearly uncomfortable with having to ask for what he wants.

“Not used to asking?” Billy goaded.

Hargrove reached for the door again before thinking better of it, instead choosing to shove the man, pressing his forefinger into Chris’s sternum as he laid into him, hissing, “Come on then, say it. What was it you wanted? Tell me or I walk, because it clearly wasn’t some weak attempt at a blowjob, I have 10 minutes left before I have to be back behind that fucking bar, so man the _fuck_ up and tell me what you want.”

Chris’s crimson face was a picture; emasculated, embarrassed and angry, he looked at Billy through narrowed eyes, hands balling into fists as he spat his reply, “I want to fuck you, okay? I wanted to fuck you and feel with my own fucking hands what all the fuss was about. Good enough princess?”.

_“Bingo, he’s volatile, these kinds always are. Push him, I dare you, he will punish you for it… And that’s what you want, right? Push harder.”_

Billy looked at the man, projecting solely boredom and disinterest. His sinister headmate was right; the man was one step away from exploding and whilst the image made him cautious, it also sent his adrenaline sky high. “So?” He said, impatiently.

“So what?” Chris seethed.

“What are you waiting for? A parade?” Billy teased coldly and with that, Chris lunged forwards.

 

Billy offered no defense, just braced himself as he felt those clammy hands slip into his pants again, gripping his now fully erect cock firmly.

“Seriously? You need it that bad?” Chris laughed.

Silent still, Billy kept deadfaced as he continued to allow his body to be moved and used by a man he couldn’t stand.

“Turn around.” Came the command, and Billy did as he was told. “No, not against the cubicle wall, you wanted no noise right? Hands on the tiles.”.

Adjusting his position, Billy felt himself space out as he lowered himself over the cistern, fingers spread and pressed against the cold, off-white tiles. He heard behind him Chris fiddling with his belt and, mood slowly spiralling, Billy studied the graffiti on the walls. Names of drunks carved into the grouting, numbers scrawled in thick red marker, insult after insult… and then something that made his heart sink;  ‘Jodie & Adam 4ever’.

He tried to turn his head away, but was left looking at the grimy restroom floor and toilet bowl. It was only now starting to hit him how far he had fallen, leaving Billy choking on the realisation and unable to look at the declaration of love on the wall. Desperate to keep things moving he snapped back at Chris, trying to shake away the sadness he felt at his own voluntary degradation, clinging to the last of his ego. “You fucking lost or something?”.

“Shut up.” Chris said flatly, shoving Billy’s head right down so he couldn’t look anywhere else but in the bowl.

Feeling very distant from himself now, he kept his head down, trying instead to examine the patterns left by limescale under the toilet seat. He twitched as he felt his trousers pulled down and Chris’s hand enclose around his cock again.

“Pre already? Jesus Christ, they were right.”

 _“Still think you’re winning?”_ The persecutor teased from behind Chris while Billy remained silent, cheeks flushing. This was a loss; all of this was him losing. Billy knew he was a joke and yet he was only becoming _more_ stimulated - his shadow torturing him further by raising Billy’s chin with an elongated claw to look at what he could never have: ‘Jodie  & Adam 4ever’.

Gazing over Billy’s exposure with approval, Chris took his time to tease him with a slick thumb. “Eager aren’t we?” he muttered behind him, misreading Billy’s change in posture for anticipation.

Billy watched his imaginary companion scrape another claw across the graffiti, still holding his head aloft. _“Always eager, always hungry. This is why you’re alone, see?,”_  they drawled, their prisoners eyes stinging now but remaining dry, his face expressionless. _“This is where you belong, right here.”_

Thumb replaced with two fingers, Chris continued his internal exploration of Billy, lowering his body over him slowly. “I’ve been waiting for this all day, you have no idea. You’re an incredible sight Hargrove, and to think,” The man whispered confidently, digits still buried deep, “I’ve got that body bent to my will.”

 _“You caved so easy… He thinks he made you do this, he thinks you are weak.”_ Scolded the unrelenting voice again, pushing until Billy could no longer think straight. Unable to take anymore, Billy snapped, interrupting Chris and his infernal reptile mid flow, degradation peaking as his pre dripped to the floor. “Quit fucking around! If you’re gonna do it, then shut up and fuck me! Stop fucking talking and get it over with!” He bit back, struggling to keep his voice down, body shaking.

Chris whipped his fingers out of Billy’s ass fast and moved to press his dick against him, both hands clutching Hargrove’s hips tightly as he spat on his entrance. “Suit yourself, it’s your asshole, what do I care.”

Bracing himself, Billy’s fingers curled against the cold tiles, breathing shallow when, without warning, Chris pushed in hard and fast. Eyes shooting open, he swallowed back a yell as the pain from a forced, unlubricated penetration engulfed his sanity and spiraled its way back down to his throbbing cock. The strangled grunt was the last sound Billy made from that point onwards.

He kept his eyes closed for as much as he could for the first minute until the pain started to subside. Chris was giving it his all, the sound of his belt buckle catching the floor as his hips bore into Billy a testament to this, but it wasn’t enough. The rush was over as soon as it began and he was left wanting worse; the aching need within him to be broken drowning out all other sensations, leaving him hollow.

Chris forced Billy’s head back down as he picked up speed and was met with no resistance. Billy had given up. There was nothing in this for him but a reminder of the void he could never fill. Eyes glazed, he looked at his reflection distorted in the murky water, praying the man fucking him would lose it - hold Billy’s head under until his body gave out and the voices stopped… But of course it was never going to happen.

Mind and body disconnected, all he could do now was watch the glint of his mothers necklace swaying like a pendulum over the toilet seat as Chris fucked him. The pairs build up to climax just a countdown to Billy’s reset where the endless cycle begins again. No relief, no respite; only the frantic search for his next hit and a throbbing pain deep in his gut.

 

* * *

 

 

The bar hummed with drunk activity and Billy counted his blessings for the lack of intrusion an hour earlier. Stomach beginning to settle, he had now committed himself to polishing every damn glass he could find behind the counter with the only clean cloth he managed to get his hands on. His brain was still numb and he wasn’t entirely sure he could feel his fingers, so he figured keeping them occupied was the best way forward. 2 hours left, he repeated to himself, 2 hours until I can get the fuck outta here.

Chris didn’t stick around after he’d finished with Billy which was, in many ways, a relief. Slipping a $20 bill into the tip jar, the man had thrown Billy a knowing, triumphant smirk before marching out with his briefcase into the night. It left him feeling dirty and, as always, disgustingly stimulated so he threw himself into his work.

Billy was starving, having prioritised fucking over eating and it was making him grumpy. If he was to have any hope of keeping up his usual charming facade, he was gonna have to eat something. Slinging the cloth over his shoulder, Billy snuck behind his manager to wolf down some potato chips beneath the counter. He was half way through emptying the packet into his mouth when he was interrupted.

“Lunch didn’t quite cut it huh?”

Billy choked on a Dorito dramatically, trying to cover his mouth as he coughed to dislodge it. His coworker thumped him on the back heavily with a playful smile. Finally regaining composure, Billy looked up at the middle-aged guy with bloodshot, watering eyes from his coughing fit.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone, chill. You need to get yourself a wife, my Beth always sends me away with a full belly.”

“Uhuh, yeah, I’ll get right on that George, as soon as I am done with this shift I will go get myself a wife.” He replied, voice hoarse.

“What did you have anyway?” George enquired, spraying down the countertop.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it a meal exactly.” Billy replied, throwing the wrapper in the trash and getting back to his feet.

“Ha! I never took you for a master chef, but you have to be eating something, I mean look at you. Whole carton of eggs, 3 entire chickens and mountain of spinach kinda deal.”

Flicking his hair over his shoulder, Billy snorted at Georges assumption. “Oh, I dunno, I may surprise you. I have been told I have very skilled hands.”

“Aha, is that so?” His coworker laughed, vigorously wiping the bar, “Come off it Billy, you’re as useless as everyone else in this place.”

Resuming his inspection of the glasses, Billy shrugged off the bearded man’s unintentional insult.

“To be honest, I’m unsure anyone in here can cook a full meal, certainly not the kitchen.”

This tickled Billy and he gave in, laughing as he held a glass to the light. “George, I can cook dinners that would have your wife quivering at the knees.”

Moving to the other side of the counter, George leaned over, pointing at Billy with his wet cloth, “Yeah? GOOD! Come over and give the poor woman a break, God knows she needs a rest. She’s starting to get these nasty bags under her eyes and can hardly stay awake. It’s these shifts they keep giving her at the hospital - fucking ridiculous if you ask me.”

“And yet she still manages to feed your fat ass? Powerful woman.” Billy joked, picking up another glass and setting to work removing a stubborn lipstick stain.

George rolled his eyes and grabbed his stomach with pride, “This is all her handiwork, I just eat what I’m given!”.

“I bet you do sweetcheeks. Can’t Beth take leave or whatever if it’s getting that bad? She’s hardly gonna be doing a good job if she’s verging on passing out everyday.” Billy asked, genuinely concerned. George was a gentle, kind man under all those jokes and his wife an angel, so while Billy didn’t consider them friends as such, he still cared.

Sighing, his collegue shook his head, “Sadly not. There’s a quarantine been put up over one of the smaller wings, some nasty virus they are struggling to contain. No one knows much about it at this point, but the symptoms alone are fucking awful.”

Billy lowered the glass, a niggling sensation pulling at his concentration like he had forgotten something but couldn’t for the life of him remember what. “A virus? Are we talking Outbreak style here?”

“I’m unsure. Beth hasn’t been allowed to discuss it but you know her, can’t keep her mouth shut to save her life. Described it as almost biblical. She never gave me details, but she looked fairly shaken. There have only been 5-6 cases so far, each one fatal, but apparently The Suits have come in to investigate.”

“You serious? How the fuck has this not reached the news? Do they have any idea what it is?” Billy was now completely ignoring his duties, torn between the gossip and his own confusion.

George propped himself up on the counter again next to Billy, lowering his voice to escalate the drama, “From what I’ve heard, no one knows. Beth says the men from out of town have declared it some foreign, tropical disease carried over somehow, but she reckons it’s a chemical agent. She may not be a doctor but my wife has been a nurse for so long now that it’s almost impossible to sneak anything by her.” He thumped his chest before continuing, “As for the news, well think about it, people are stressed enough about catching whatever new shit is going around. Something like this would only make it worse. Can you imagine the panic?”

Billy began to reply but froze immediately, suddenly remembering what he had forgotten. _“Shit!”_ he cursed, turning on his heel and hitting his head against his hand.

“What’s up? You alright?” George asked, standing up and curling a finger through his moustache.

“Fuck, uh, shit.” Billy started, temporarily unable to move, “I think I left my wallet in the restroom, it’s got everything in it, you good to cover here? I need to-”

“Yeah man, no problem.”

“Fucking hell” He cursed, vaulting over the bar and landing flawlessly to a rowdy cheer from a group of women in the corner.

“Run Forest, Run!” George yelled after him, gleefully.

 

Crashing into the mens restroom, Billy held himself up against the door now closed behind him. He surveyed the room, catching the eye of some old guy staring at him, dick still dangling over the urinal. The man didn’t move, obviously disconcerted, so Billy yelled at him. “You done? Or are you just gonna stare at me with your fucking cock hanging out? Asshole.”

The man scrambled to put himself away, almost catching himself in his zipper and lurched over to Billy, ready to give him a piece of his mind. Billy didn’t think twice and stood over the old man, lips curled back, shoulders hunched over, “You got a problem? Huh?”. The guy shrank immediately and turned to bolt, “I didn’t fucking think so!” Billy yelled after him, flipping him the finger.

Alone in the restroom, he swallowed his discomfort and dove into the cubicle Chris had fucked him in earlier, looking around him before getting on his knees to inspect the floor. _“What the fuck is wrong with you?”_ Billy seethed at himself under his breath, bending down lower to peer under the partition. Nothing. Grimacing, he reluctantly grabbed a toilet brush to see if anything was left there out of sight. No luck.

Slinging the brush back into its holder, Billy punched the wall and barged through the door, fingers buried in his hair as he started pacing around the open space. _“This can’t be happening, you fucking idiot!”_ he repeated to himself as he spotted the bin by the urinal.

Swallowing back bile, Billy cursed loudly again before kneeling down to rifle through its contents.

“Motherfucker!” He exclaimed as his hand closed around it’s prize. Collapsing on the floor with his arms draped over his knees, Billy stared at the used condom in it’s wrapper. His breathing was shallow and he scolded himself as he threw the packet back in the trash, head bent back in relief.

Shaking, Billy tried to stand, bending over the sink waiting for his pulse to return to normal. How could he have been so fucking careless? He didn’t even check - hadn’t stopped to think… In the back of his mind he knew that it would have been noticeable had protection not have been used, but that wasn’t the point. He _always_ checked.

The door opened and in came George. “Did you find it?”

Billy nodded, washing his hands, “My wallet? It was in my pocket the entire time, sorry for the theatrics.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, my bad, it’s been a long week.” He replied, looking at his tired reflection in the mirror.

George let the door shut quietly behind him and walked over to Billy, laying a big, heavy arm over his shoulder, “You sure you’re okay pal?”

“You know what?” Billy laughed, head bowed low over the sink, tap still running. “I don’t even know anymore.”

The large man continued to hold him and Billy let him, still laughing to himself as he watched the water spin down the plughole. “Do you need a few days rest or something? I can talk to Craig-”

“No, don’t. It’s nothing.” Billy responded quickly, retreating from his confession and pulling away from George.

“It’s no big deal, I’m sure he would understand, you’re in here almost everyday as it is.”

“Look, I’m fine. I’ve just been struggling to sleep, that’s all.” He replied, trying to inject some warmth into his defensive reply as he dried his hands with a paper towel.

George was unconvinced, one arm folded across his belly as his other hand fiddled with his beard. He watched Billy for a moment before continuing, “I get not wanting to be all emotional or whatever, I get it. I am not trying to make you do anything, just trying to help you out buddy because let’s face it, you haven’t really been yourself the last few weeks.”

For a moment, Billy wished the fat man in the lumberjack get-up could replace his father but he shot the quiet dream down instantly. Screwing up the paper towel into a ball, he threw it over Georges shoulder and beamed triumphantly as it landed in the bin. “See? I’m fine.”

George sighed and his face broke into a knowing smile, thumping his thick hand on Billy’s back, “If you say so kid, just know the offer is there when you need it.”

Feeling a little cornered and desperate to end his colleagues questioning, Billy retaliated by twisting his body under Georges arm fast, reaching behind him to slap his ass hard. “How could I accept such an offer when Beth is slaving her fingers to the bone? Would hardly be fair now, would it? Don’t worry about me!” He called behind him as he sped out the door, leaving George bewildered and cupping his burning asscheek.

 

* * *

 

 

Taking his hair down from the loose ponytail, Billy shook his head to allow the waves to fall over his shoulders. Catching a glimpse of himself in a window, he adjusted his collar and slipped into an old denim jacket. He had made it - 9pm and his shift was finally over. With a forced smile, Billy made his way back to the bar, putting his weight on the counter and calling over to George whose eyes were locked on the TV.

“One for the road good sir?” He asked playfully, mimicking a british accent.

George grinned and turned his back to the sports highlights, sliding next to Billy from behind the counter. “What will it be? Single or a double?”.

“Double, please, and a bag of nuts - if you don’t mind.”

“But of course.” George replied, playing into the scene, rolling away to grab a bottle of Jack Daniels, masterfully spinning it in the air before decanting it into the glass. Curling his moustache upwards, he flipped a bag of peanuts from the holder and presented them formally to Billy, who nodded in approval.

Finally, George layed down a napkin, making sure it was straight and placed the drink onto it. “Only the finest” he said courteously.

“You, Mr Brown, are a bona fide saint,” Billy murmured, holding the generously filled glass up to the man in gratitude, downing it in one.

“I do my best, young Hargrove. Plans for tonight?”

Wiping his mouth, Billy thought for a second. “Unsure, movie and bed probably.”

George’s gaze was pulled from Billy back to the screen as a roar erupted from the crowd around it. “Uhuh, yeah, sounds like a good idea,” He said, distracted.

Left eyebrow raised, Billy snorted and shook his head, returning the glass neatly on the napkin and grabbing the bag of nuts, shoving them into his pocket. Walking away from the fanatics yelling loudly at the TV, Billy slipped a cigarette out of the box and made his way out the door.

 

Neon lights flickered and buzzed above him as Billy breathed in the cool, fresh night air. It had been raining, the floor still wet, reflecting the red and green from the sign reading ‘Quarry’s End’. Somehow, Billy had managed to miss every short shower of rain for the past month and for some bizarre reason, it left him feeling miserable like he was somehow disconnected from the world. He missed standing in the storm getting soaked to the skin; it was a truly wild sensation and he hated how he was always late for it nowadays.

Billy listened to the sound of cars coursing across the wet motorway, bending his head to light his cigarette. His ass still smarted from his punishment earlier and he swallowed his shame, turning to begin his slow treck home. Boots thudding on the sidewalk at a steady rhythm, Billy tried to replace the sounds of Chris with film ideas for his evening in.

He wanted something suitably moody and atmospheric, maybe a bit artsy, so he turned his mind back to the conversation he’d had with George a week earlier. What was the movie he was going on about? It had that french guy in it and Natalie Portman. Turning the cigarette over in his hands, it finally came to him. ‘Leon’, that’s the one. Billy liked a bit of controversy in his videos.

Mind made up, he rounded the corner and looked at the dark road in front of him illuminated by orange street lights. Branches curved over the tarmac, the deep blue sky was shrouded and the woodland surrounding it jet black except for the wet leaves dripping onto the floor. Billy lived for these walks home, they brought him peace and he always made sure to take the back roads, enjoying the thrill he gained from his gamble.

But nothing stays sacred forever.

_“Proud of yourself then?”_

Billy arched his neck back with a loud groan as, once again, the voices started. “Can I not just get one day, one _fucking_ day without you in my ear?” he muttered into the darkness.

The spectre walked infront of him, hands in their pockets looking straight at Billy. _“Not likely, I am_ _you_ _after all.”_

Inhaling deeply on his cigarette, Billy pushed on past his invisible companion angrily, but they followed, effortlessly keeping pace.

_“You really fucked up today didn’t you? Forgetting to check for protection… Do you know what could’ve happened?”_

Billy knew all too well what he risked, frightening him still as he continued to ignore the grating voice trying to trip him up.

_“I’ve noticed something Billy.”_

His persecutor hung the question over Billy’s head, waltzing behind him until he couldn’t blank it any longer, “Oh yeah? What’s that?” He whispered grumpily.

The shadow floated alongside him, twisting and turning, _“You were recovering until Steve.”._

Billy flinched as he heard the name, heart skipping a beat.

_“Sure you were a mess, it’s who you are, but you were trying.”_

“And your point is?”

_“He’s gotten into your head Billy, he’s the one making your disease worse, I mean look at you. You let a stiff in a tacky suit fuck you in the vain hope he would hurt you like Harrington did.”_

“I did not!” Billy retorted aggressively, cutting himself short as he noticed his volume, looking around to ensure he was still alone.

 _“You so did. I feel what you feel remember? I see what you don’t want to. Steve was in your head the entire time, you just didn’t know it.”_ His demon purred, standing in front of Billy who walked straight through them and in return, they replayed the moment he had yelled for Chris to just get on with it; making sure Billy felt the excruciating pain to its full extent and the vacuum left when he realised it wasn’t enough.

 

_“You were comparing him to Steve.”._

Billy slowed to consider this and immediately regretted it as he caught the truth in the judgement. “So what?” he hissed back.

 _“So what? Oh hun,”_ The voice began, snaking their elongated fingers through Billy’s hair, _“Don’t you get it?”._

“Get what?” Billy asked, shivering as icy tendrils worked their way down his spine.

_“You're completely and utterly fucked. No one will ever be good enough. No one will ever be able to make you feel how he did. He gave you what you always wanted Billy, until you choked and lost your mind. You’re never gonna be able to shake the urge now, you’ve had a taste of the good shit and no other fucker is ever going to compare.”_

Billy threw his cigarette butt on the floor, staring at the puddles at his feet and shaking his head; teeth gritted as he fought with himself.

 _“Don’t even bother fighting it, you know I’m right. You’re trapped now and it can go one of two ways. Either you remain like this, getting fucked by whatever gross fag that walks into that bar, provoking them until one of them kills you, OR…”_ The persecutor whispered, their voice low as they traced a hand across Billy’s abdomen, tugging at his belt, _“You get Steve. You go back and beg - make him give it to you over and over again.”._

Face reddening, Billy knew they were right. He had worked so hard to push Steve out of his mind, assuming that it was just some one-off, fucked up encounter, but the incident had left him tainted. It was impossible though, how the fuck would he instigate anything? Steve hated him, he was sure of it.

 _“And?”_ The voice retorted, catching wind of Billy’s thought processes, _“that’s never stopped you before.”_

“What d’you mean?” He asked himself at a loss.

 _“Name one person you’ve fucked that actually liked you?”_ They waited and Billy remained silent, _“None of them_ _liked_ _you, they just wanted to fuck you and those who were interested repulsed you. Still did it anyway though. So what if he hates you?”_

Billy sighed in despair, catching sight of the stores now coming into view.

 _“Wait - You_ _want_ _him to like you? Ha! Good luck with that. He’s just like all those other fuckers - Steve doesn't like you. Pathetic. Why would he like you? You’re clueless, y’know that? Well, either way, you have to talk to him first, alone.”_

How the fuck was he supposed to do that? Billy thought to himself, crossing the road to walk alongside the glowing shopfronts. Cars sped past and Billy looked at the night sky tinged an orange hue from the light pollution.

 _“I think you know the answer to that.”_ The demon said condescendingly, prodding Billy in the back.

What did they mean? Billy couldn’t think of any solution that wasn’t to march straight back to the Bowling Alley, but that was a stupid idea; one sure to get him barred from the entire mall. Unbeknown to him, his legs had stopped moving and in a daze, Billy looked up at the bright blue and yellow sign above him.

“No way.” He said aloud, unsettled as to how he made it here without realising.

 _“It’s the_ _only_ _way and you know it.”_

Looking through the store window, he noticed who was manning the tills and turned away cursing. “I’ve gotta be fucking crazy; _this is fucking insane!”_ How did his body know where they were going without his stupid, good for nothing brain being a part of it?

_“It’s this or another ‘Chris’. Get your dumb fucking ass in there and get your fix, because I swear to you now, I’m gonna make you pay if you don’t.”_

Powered by his split’s deadly sincere threat, Billy sniffed, swore again and strode into Blockbusters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *exhales*
> 
> As you can probably tell, we are gonna be touching on some Stuff with Billy. Gonna be diving right into the dangers associated to masochism when you are self-destructing and self-hating, and it's not gonna be easy for both Billy AND Steve. I will also be working in some other plot lines now gradually, because eventually I want the two worlds to come crashing around Billy where it is my hope, he will shine magnificently. Being a hard as all hell, rage filled guy who actually *enjoys* being hurt is gonna prove a valuable ally when faced with very real problems.  
> I have taken onboard a lot of what you guys have fed back to me and I am going to really work Billy's Persecutor into a character of their own merit, because trust me, these things can manifest very much like this. It somehow makes sense to me that both of them will deal with dissociation in their own ways, Steve's routes being derealisation and depersonalisation, whilst Billy's will be dissociative fugue, amnesia Amongst other things. Dissociation is remarkably common within traumatised people and in a weird way, my experience with complex dissociation allows me an insight to that across the full spectrum of dissociative experiences. Sometimes, these awful methods of survival that really mess our lives up are a godsend, especially in survival situations because that is what these symptoms are there to protect us from. So in that, I want these two to fucking be incredible in a scenario that requires them to fight/adapt to survive, because yeah - whilst a complete shitstorm, the ability to remove yourself from reality can be an awesome fucked up superpower. 
> 
> I am stoked about chapter 11, I cannot wait to work in more cringey funny gold for you guys as I crank up the pace. Hopefully I have dropped enough clues in these notes to get you guys intrigued and keep you hanging on. I have 3-4 more chapters mapped out with some old characters returning and now i get the joy of planning the kinkier scenes. I hope this chapter serves you all well, Thank you as always for reading and commenting, brightens my day.
> 
> Kit


	11. The Middle Man.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dustin is caught off guard as Billy confronts him about Steve's address. Fed up with the harrassment, Dustin looses his temper and to Billy's suprise, puts up a decent fight. With the pair subdued by Dustin's magical cure-all, Billy continues to push for Steve's address and Dustin is left choosing between protecting his friends privacy and keeping his job.
> 
> Meanwhile, Steve is asleep, completely unaware of the exhange happening on the other side of town... that is, until the phone rings.

It had been a mediocre day. Dustin wasn’t one to complain about a quiet shift but he was now restless and bored. Worst of all, he was hungry. Reaching into his back pocket he pulled out a crumpled bag of M&M’s and set to work munching his way through the packet. With his colleague at the tills, Dustin snuck behind the tall shelves clutching a large haul of videos and tried to make himself look busy.

Singular headphone hidden under his curly hair with his head nodding in time to Blackstreet, Dustin watched the customers as they made their way around the store. People watching; it was his favourite thing to do. Where there was no drama, Dustin could create drama in his head and today’s crowd of misfits were no disappointment. He watched a blue haired girl with piercings and platform boots check to make sure her friends didn’t notice her selecting ‘Sleepless in Seattle’. He saw a skinny kid with braces and a baggy shirt grab a copy of ‘Seven’ and ‘Alien 3’, which to Dustin’s amusement, the boy then slipped into his mom's basket.

Dustin liked how someone’s taste in film revealed the soul of a person and it left him feeling like some all knowing god at times, forever observing the customers inner truths as they shyly presented their videos at the counter. He was part way through psychoanalysing an exhausted dad hovering around the science fiction section when a voice shattered his concentration.

“What did I tell you about eating on the shop floor?”

Shit. “I’m sorry, it’s not a big deal i’ll-” Dustin began, rolling his eyes out of sight of his manager before turning around to face him.

“Don’t start, I know you’ll keep doing it. Look,” The tall bald man began, brushing crumbs off of Dustin’s shirt, “you’re shedding everywhere. How do you make so much mess with candy?”.

Dustin pulled away, annoyed at the invasion of his space and resorted to his teenage self, “Who even cares? No one in here that’s for sure. It’s almost 10pm, it’s not like this is the Ritz.”

The man stared at Dustin in disbelief and watched as he slipped a blue M&M into his mouth.

“Are you _trying_ to get fired here?”

“Dude, I’m hungry, it’s just a snack, no one can see me. You gonna tell me off for being hungry? For meeting a basic human need? Bit cold.”

His manager was almost glowing a beetroot red, his lips pursed tightly as he tried to keep his cool in the face of Dustin’s nonchalance, “That’s what your break is for smartass, give ‘em here.”.

Dustin held the bag to his chest possessively, “Hey! You can’t just-” he began but trailed off as his superior grabbed the packet from him. “ _Hey!_ I could be diabetic for all you know! I may need those to live!” He snapped back.

The slender man looked over his glasses, voice lowered in warning, “Stop the bullshit Henderson, rules are rules. You can have them back on your next break.”

He turned to leave and, unable to hold his tongue, Dustin yelled after him, “What?! Who the _hell_ do you think you are? My mom?!”

The man laughed and replied without turning around, “Another 6 cats and a terrible perm? Yeah, I could very well be.”

Dustin swore under his breath, throwing a wrapper in his managers general direction and groaned as he watched it fall limply to the floor. Begrudgingly, Dustin returned to stacking the shelves and tried to remind himself why he had this stupid job in the first place; discounted videos, discounted snacks and money for pot. He repeated it in his head over and over as he resumed people watching.

It was getting busy which was no surprise. Around this time on Fridays without fail, the last rush would come in. Groups of friends looking for videos for their sleepovers, drained office staff wanting something to shut off to and the odd lone stranger coming in to continue their voyage into film. His eyes were drawn to one of these individuals loitering anxiously around the World Cinema section, and he watched with anticipation as the man's hands hovered over ‘The City of Lost Children’. Dustin stood braced, willing him to take the plunge and indulge in french surrealist horror, but was left disappointed when he moved away.

He couldn’t quite make out who the man was, but being a fan of foreign film himself, Dustin was always curious to see who else was in the club. Absentmindedly arranging videos, Dustin squinted at the sturdy worn boots and tight jeans - about all he could make out from where he was standing. There was something familiar about the piece of red cloth tied around the man's ankle but he couldn’t quite place it. The guy reached up to take a copy of ‘Strawberry and Chocolate’ and as he read the back, Dustin made his way around the cabinet to subtly get a better view.

At that moment, with Dustin’s head suspiciously poked around the corner, his prey put the film back on the shelf and turned suddenly, head bowed with a pained expression. Dustin recognised the dirty blonde hair immediately and spun around, crouching behind the shelves.

Oblivious to how ridiculous he looked, Dustin tried to be invisible. He wasn’t scared of Billy, it was just he had no idea how to react to the guy. He’d never had a problem serving Billy here in the past, but that was before he had stabbed his friend, been fucked over by his friend and sucked his friends dick. This was a whole _new_ level of uncomfortable and he prayed that he hadn’t been seen. Eventually and with much bravery, Dustin slowly moved to his feet, poking his head around the corner of the shelves again to see if Hargrove was still there and breathed a sigh of relief. He shook his head in embarrassment, turning to go back to the tills, at which point he almost fell over.

“Boo.”

 

* * *

 

 

From the moment he stepped foot into Blockbusters, Billy regretted everything. He considered turning tail and walking right back out that door, but his persecutor was already there, barring his escape. With no idea how to talk to Steve’s stoner friend, Billy was left floundering inside. He figured his best bet was to just get a video and hire it at the till, but by the time he’d completed that thought process, Dustin was no longer there.

This presented a different issue. Billy could wait around for Dustin to go back behind the tills to continue his original plan, or he could try and find him, grit his teeth and start a conversation. As the minutes passed, Billy began to realise that his first option would involve him looking like a tool as he waited, so reluctantly he settled on talking to Dustin directly. He hadn’t realised where he was standing and was idly looking at the foreign videos on the shelf, using his peripheral vision to scout his surroundings when he heard Dustin’s voice.

Waiting for the quarrel to die down, Billy tried to ease his nerves by reading the backs of the videos; a mistake he realized, finally understanding the plot to ‘Fresa Y Chocolate’. Wincing in shame and longing, he slid it back on the shelf hurriedly. Time to bite the bullet, he thought to himself as he turned to meet his fate.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Dustin dive out of sight and swore under his breath, realising he had been spotted. Well, this was awkward. Unsure quite what had triggered the dramatic response on Dustin’s behalf, Billy anxiously tied his hair up and hesitantly made his way over to the guy still on his knees looking for him. He waited, watching in baffled amusement as Dustin straightened himself before breaking the ice.

Dustin staggered back as Billy spoke, gasping loudly, “ _Jesus Christ! You… Fuck… What the-”._

“Keep your pants on.” Billy replied unimpressed, unsure if he should be entertained or offended by Dustin's extreme reaction to his presence. At a loss, he watched the guy try to blank him by arranging the already ordered shelves and said nothing, arms folded.

“Why’re you-” Dustin began.

“I need to talk to you.” Billy responded quietly before raising an eyebrow as the guy walked right past him.

“Why? Why the hell d’you want to talk to me?” Dustin asked, not looking back.

Hands flexing in his pockets, Billy looked at the ceiling; willing it to fall and crush him so this whole, humiliating ordeal would be over. To his disappointment, the ceiling remained intact. Fuck. Voice lowered, he tried again, “Look, can we talk in private?”.

“Uh, can’t you see I’m busy? I’m at work, dude.”

“I’ll only be quick.” He replied, trying to bury his impatience.

“Can you wait or something? I finish after midnight and my boss will have my head.”

“Can’t wait.” Billy lied, still attempting to be civil.

Dustin rolled his head back, irritated as he tried to evade Billy by walking to the tills. “What do you mean, ‘can’t wait’?” He asked, barricading himself behind the counter.

“I mean,” Billy said, frustration rising as he leant over the the desk, “I need something from you and you’re gonna give it.”.

He noticed Dustin step back momentarily intimidated and was surprised when arrogance replaced fear. “What the fuck gives you that idea? I don’t have to give you jack shit.”

Pulled in by the challenge, Billy made sure his voice was laden with menace as he pulled away from the counter, looking at the customers milling around. “Oh really?”. Dustin looked at him suspiciously, following his eyes as they looked around the room. Billy gestured to the people behind him in the line starting to form with a malicious grin, “I’m sure all the good folk here would like to know how you gave a customers home address to-”

Billy was silenced as Dustin threw himself across the counter to slam a large palm across Billy’s mouth. Billy stood there in shock for a moment before shoving the guy off of him, looking at Dustin who seemed equally amazed at his response.

“Will you _shut up?!”_ He seethed, a hand outstretched trying to reassure the customers in the line who stared at him concerned.

“Why should I? You abused your access to a customers personal information for -”

Rolling over the counter fast and twisting his hand in Billy’s jacket, Dustin yanked the man to the side. “Shut up! This could get me _fired!”_ Dustin spat, his face angry and desperate.

Billy looked up at him smugly. He had found the perfect button to push. Steve’s address was his now. Rolling his shoulders back, he easily shrugged himself out of Dustin’s grip and stood casually before him, “Why the fuck would I care? Asshole.”

Billy waited for Dustin to read the truth in his eyes and smirked as the kid backed down, resorting to pleading again, “Can you just go away? I can meet you after work I promise, go and get a drink somewhere, I dunno.”

“Not good enough.” He replied, shaking his head, “You _owe_ me.” Dustin looked at him confused again and with a flash of teeth, Billy turned back to the spectators pretending not to be listening and said loudly, “Your staff are selling your information to the highest bidder! Who knows who has your address, your number, your-”

Dustin snatched Billy’s arm and dragged him behind the poster rack, trying to avoid the appalled expressions on the customers faces. He stared at Billy in disbelief for a moment before releasing him and shoving him forward. “Fine! Alright! You win! Happy now? Fucking hell, let me talk to my boss.”.

Regaining his footing, Billy stood and tapped an imaginary watch on his wrist, “Tick tock Dustin,” he said sternly, leaning right into the guy as he completed his threat, “Hurry the fuck up or I sing like a fucking canary, I swear to you.”

Dustin took one more look at Billy and sped off to find his wretched manager.

 

* * *

 

 

This can’t be fucking happening, you fucking _idiot_ Dustin. Of course Steve told him, of course he did. Jesus Christ. Why today? What did he do to deserve all this? He thought to himself as he skidded through the staff room door, cheeks flushed.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Dustin didn’t reply, just bent over by the door trying to collect himself.

“I’m not giving them back, you’re wasting your time, I told you, wait until your break.”

“I know, I know, that’s the thing, can I take my 10 minutes now?” He said urgently.

Polished head glinting under stale lighting, the man leaned forward and sneered. “You serious? Jesus, you can’t be that desperate?” He rolled the packet of M&M’s in his hands in front of Dustin cruelly.

“No! Fuck, look, it’s uh, it’s my mom - she’s sick.” Dustin replied, his face pink as he floundered for a decent excuse.

Rocking back in his wide desk chair, his boss tilted his head to the side and pulled a sympathetic face, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “Oh no, how sad. Tell me, how is 10 minutes outside gonna remedy that?”

Dustin had just about had enough of everyone’s bullshit but he did his absolute best to reign back his temper, clearing his throat before continuing, “I’m gonna call her - make sure she’s okay.”

“Is that so? So I’m supposed to believe your mom, who I saw out just yesterday quite happily in town, is suddenly that ill?”

On the verge of exploding, Dustin looked over his shoulder through the grubby door window, watching as Billy spoke to an old lady. Fuck this. “Dude, this isn’t a fucking sweatshop. I have rights. I am entitled to my fucking break! Since when did I have to beg? This is _America!”_

“Watch your tongue Henderson! You’re still on probation from your last screw up.”

Dustin glanced over his shoulder again and hurriedly looked away when he saw Billy tap the imaginary watch again. “You can either let me take this break so I can call my sick - no - potentially _dying_ mom, or I can walk out and do it anyway!”

The pair stared at each other.

“Well?!” Dustin snapped.

“5 minutes.”

Dustin rolled his eyes to the back of his head, “5 minutes? Bullshit, I have 10.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Squinting at the man he despised above all others, Dustin tried again, “8 minutes.”

“7 minutes.”

“Alright fine!” He retorted rudely, “If my mom flakes on me, on your fucking head be it.” and with that, he lunged across the desk and stole back his M&Ms, thundering out of the office and straight to Billy.

“So?” Billy started but Dustin wasn’t having any of it. He seized Billy by his jacket again and dragged the startled man behind him to the door.

“Shut the fuck up, I have 7 minutes, my _last_ break of the night. Make it quick.”

 

* * *

 

Cars sped past the road outside Blockbusters as Billy was practically thrown out of the store. Agitated and taken aback by Dustin’s aggression, he waited as the guy fumbled to retrieve a mangled joint out of his battered Akira tin.

Taking a moment to light up and blow the hot ashes away, he turned to Billy angrily, “So? What’s so fucking urgent then, huh?”

Billy froze, suddenly unable to formulate words.

“You’re joking right? Now you’re quiet? Oh for the love of-”

“I need Harrington’s address.”

Dustin stared at Billy aghast, his joint hanging limply out of his mouth. “You… You’re kidding me right now?”

Billy shook his head, trying to mask his embarrassment but Dustin had now well and truly had enough, shoving Billy hard as he yelled, “You come out of nowhere, threatening to get me fucking fired all because you want _Steve’s address?! Hell no!”_

Bracing himself, Billy bit back his exasperation to try and contain the situation, knowing he wouldn’t get anything if Dustin remained like this, “Listen to me, chill!”

Dustin was done with listening, “Don’t… don’t stand there and tell me to ‘chill out’ like I am the one in the wrong here! Do you just - Not even think? How is this urgent? How the fuck is this worth _any of that show in there!”_

Still puffing on his skimpy joint, Dustin shoved Billy again who waited patiently for the guy to burn it out of his system. “What is _wrong with you?”_ he continued and, seemingly provoked by Billy’s inaction, swung a fist aiming right for Hargroves jaw.

Instinctively, Billy flung an arm up to block Dustin’s blow, looking at the kid in a daze before his opponent turned on him again. Body twisting to the side and lowering itself quickly, Billy winced as Dustin’s ribs slammed into his outstretched elbow which he used to drive the man back.

Pulling away, Billy watched as Dustin coughed and held his chest. Where the _fuck_ did that come from? He thought to himself, both irritated and impressed at the potheads tenacity. Frustrated, Billy tried again to calm the kid. He had no interest in fighting Dustin, his body still aching from Chris earlier that day, so he extended a hand and hissed through his teeth “I said, calm down! It’s not-”

“Calm _down?!_ ” Dustin snapped and Billy swore to himself as the guy did the complete opposite, trying to kick his legs out from under him. Staggering slightly, Billy tried to evade the low blow but skidded on the slick sidewalk, and in a desperate move, threw a hand out to clutch Dustin’s shirt to stay upright. Unable to keep his balance, Dustin cursed loudly as he was pulled forward, eyes open wide as they both crashed into the Blockbuster street sign, landing flat on their asses.

Groaning and holding their aching bodies, the pair forced themselves upright but remained sitting on the soaked ground. Slumped against the signpost, Dustin breathed in deep, trying to relight the joint he had miraculously managed to keep in his mouth the entire time.

“And they say _I’m_ explosive.” Billy coughed, to which Dustin snorted in amusement.

“I need this job man, like, really need it. You can’t just threaten people like that, you dumb fuck.”

Billy paused in consideration, wincing as he realised the kid had a point before beginning his rebuttal, “Alright fine, that was out of order, I get it. I wasn’t really going to…” He trailed off, noticing Dustin’s unconvinced glare, “Okay, yes I was. But to be fair, you did give Steve my address.”

He watched as Dustin nodded, sighing apologetically when to Billy’s surprise, he handed him the joint, “Truce?”

Unsure quite what to do, he nodded in return, taking the spliff as he spoke, “Truce.”.

They sat in silence for a moment as Billy breathed in deep on the blunt, holding his breath to achieve maximum effect before exhaling, eyes watering. “Fucking hell-” He choked, “How much did you put in this?”.

Dustin looked at Billy’s red face and amazed expression, and promptly burst out laughing. “Just the usual amount dude, aha! Breathe, don’t power it!”

Billy looked around, still coughing as the world twisted a little and did as the stoner advised; breathing in deep through his nose and out from his mouth. Fuck, the wet tarmac smelt good.

“Y’good?” Dustin asked as Billy took another toke, staring vacantly into space.

Billy said nothing but nodded, head resting against the pole. “It’s been a fucking… shit day.” He replied eventually, eyes glazed.

 

* * *

 

 

Trying to hide his pleasure at seeing Hargrove almost kill himself on a tightly packed roll, Dustin felt a pang of empathy for the man. He had no idea what to say and he certainly didn’t want to make it worse. This wasn’t like dealing with Steve, not one bit. Billy was reactive in a very different way and Dustin liked that about him - well, ‘like’ was a very strong word. It was endearing, something Dustin could work with. In the end, he settled for a casual approach, but one that ensured the man knew he had been heard. “I hear you on that, just… let the pot work its magic.”.

Billy did just that and Dustin tried to look at him as he imagined Steve would have done, if only to understand what had gone through his best friends mind head the last time they met. He looked good, that was a given, but it wasn’t the aesthetic alone that had drawn Steve to him. No longer caring about his break curfew, Dustin watched as a passing car lit Billy’s face as he smoked, and for a moment, Dustin thought he saw something but before he could continue his investigation, he was interrupted.

“So, about this address.”

Dustin shuffled uncomfortably, trying to deflect his thoughts to literally anything else in case Billy could suddenly read his mind, and blurted his reply, “I’m not giving you it.”.

Turning to face him, Billy looked confused and annoyed, “Why?”

“I don’t know you dude, he’s my friend - I’m not gonna do that to him.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed as he passed the joint back to Dustin who was now feeling very tense. “You had no problem giving him mine.”

Oh shit. “Yeah,” He began, taking the smoke from the man and trying to find a decent excuse for his actions. “But he was going to apologise. He didn’t ask me for it, I just gave it to him.”

“You just _gave_ _it to him?_ ” Billy asked flatly, making Dustin squirm.

“I wasn’t gonna give it to anyone else, was I? He didn’t know where you lived and -”

“Whatever, I don’t care.” Came the sharp interruption.

Dustin bit his lip and tried a different tact, “Look at it from my perspective - You come into my work hunting for my friends address out of the damn blue. I hardly know you, I have no idea why you want it and I don’t know what you intend to do with it. I’m not trying to be a dick here.”

Billy looked taken aback for a moment, eyebrows raised as he exhaled forcefully, “What on god's green earth do you think I’m gonna do huh? I’m not _evil.”_

Mind suddenly flooded with images of Steve and the guy before him fucking, Dustin shook his head, trying to block it out. “Seriously? Oh jeez, right. So far you have stabbed Steve, landed him in hospital on multiple occasions, tried attacking my friends when we were kids, went on a full racist explosion at-”

“I’m not racist.”

Dustin rolled his eyes, ignoring the interjection, “That’s not the point, idiot. Fuck, you haven’t exactly given me any reason to see you as anything other than… well…” He tried to gesture to all of Billy with a pained expression.

“I get your point, but if that’s the case, why the hell would I come and ask _you_ for the address?”

Blinking, unable to fully process the question, Dustin remained quiet.

“Think about it, pothead; if I wanted to kill or hurt Steve, what sense is there in going to his friend to ask for the location? I mean, come on, give me some fucking credit.”

Teetering on the edge of his high, Dustin rubbed his chin as he considered Billy’s angle. “I’d be a witness - you’d be on CCTV asking for his address…”

Billy clapped his hands patronisingly, “You getting it now?” he asked, scowling.

Dustin nodded bewildered, slowly feeding himself the rescued M&M’s.

“So?”

“I just - Why do you want it?” For a moment, Dustin swore that Billy had blushed, and he watched intensely as the man screwed his face up, his dilated pupils looking at the sign above them flickering.

“Just wanna talk”

Dustin puffed his cheeks, chuckling under his breath, “That’s believable.”.

“Oh, come _on.”_ He replied, irritated.

“Y’see how batshit crazy this all is, right?” Dustin asked, aghast.

Twisting his whole body round to give Dustin his full attention, Billy sighed dramatically, “What do I need to do to get that address?”

“It’s not - Jesus. You don’t have to _do_ anything.”

“So what’s the damn problem?!” Billy hissed, still confused.

“He’s gonna be pissed, man.” Dustin countered, raising his voice to match Billy’s, sucking on the blunt.

“I’m fucking _pisse d !”_

Despite how stoned he was, Dustin had to give the man credit for his persistence as Billy attempted to intimidate him. Somehow, seeing Hargrove so normal removed some of the hard edge that kept him cautious, so, bold as brass, he puffed his chest out to match Billy. “Back off!”

“No, _you_ back off!”

“What are you? 12?!” He fired back, trying to not snigger but all was lost as Billy burst out laughing. Unable to resist, Dustin joined him; the pair cackling to themselves on the sodden sidewalk. Pausing to regain his breath, he took one final toke before passing the smoke back to Billy. “Look, Steve... is going through some shit. I don’t want to make it any worse.”

“Why would I be-” Billy began and quickly reconsidered his answer upon seeing Dustin’s cocked eyebrow. “Right, yeah, I remember. But still, I’m not gonna hurt him.”

Dustin thought long and hard, weighing up his options before hitting his head twice on the Blockbuster signpost. “Steve’s gonna kill me.” He groaned.

Spotting Dustin’s falling defences, Billy pushed harder, puffing on the joint as he did, “If he asks, just say I forced you to give it to me. Tell him I hit you.”

Dustin stared at Billy in surprise, puzzled by his thoughtfulness. “Yeah, but, wouldn’t that just make him hate you?”

Taking a moment to think, Billy’s blue eyes narrowed then widened, and he looked Dustin square in his. “What - He _doesn’t_ hate me?”

“I never said that.”

Brow knotted in stoned confusion, Billy continued to try and make sense of the situation, “But… He can’t _hate_ me again if he already hates me to start with. If he hated me then it wouldn’t matter what I did, surely?”

“Why do you care so much?” Dustin enquired, a slight warmth in his stomach building as he watched the man fumbling over his friend.

“I don’t care - Just curious, that’s all.”

“Riiiight.”

The pair sat in silence again, ignoring the side-eye glances from the late night crowds stepping around them. Billy was sitting deep in thought, still smoking, and Dustin wondered how the man would ever make it home if he continued at the pace he was going, but he waved the thought away. He felt somewhat proud of himself that he could handle his weed better than Hargrove; King of The Green, that’s who he was.

“Do you… Do you know?” Dustin heard Billy ask tentatively, and he looked away, embarrassed.

“Uh, yeah.”

Billy exhaled loudly, grunted and held his head in his free hand. Dustin flinched, anticipating an explosion but there was none. In completely unknown territory, befuddled and now sympathetic, Dustin tried to soothe him. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

A weight seemed to be lifted from the pairs back as clues to Billy’s real intentions started to become clear. “How d’you know?” Billy asked, trying to mask his anxiety.

“Well uh, there was that bite mark for a start - that wasn’t subtle _at all_ , and… Steve, he told me.”

Dustin noticed the man grow more animated again at the mention of Harrington’s name and he smiled as Billy quizzed him. “He told you? What did he say?”

“I dunno man, it wouldn’t be right for me to say, I just know shit happened.”

Billy slid down the pole slowly, unable to hide his blush and to Dustin’s horror, he slid a hand around to steal 3 M&M’s from his bag, eating them without a word. He didn’t have the heart to scold him at this point, so Dustin slid the almost empty wrapper into his pocket.

“Do you think he wants to see me?”

Surprised, Dustin looked at Billy once more but the guy was now looking at the condensation on Blockbuster shop front. He did _not_ expect this level of interest and emotion from Billy whatsoever, and despite knowing that Steve thought of Billy regularly, it didn’t feel right to give that away. After all, it had been a week since he’d seen his friend and he wouldn’t want to lead Billy on with an assumption. “I don’t know, to be honest. It’s more complex than you think.”

“You’ve got that right.” Billy replied, dejected, and the pair quietly laughed again.

Dustin paused, shaking his head before rummaging in his deep pockets. “Okay, shit, I’m probably gonna regret this but -” he pulled out a chunky black pen from the snack filled depths, and turned to Billy, “Do you have paper? Anything at all?” He asked, waving his hands impatiently. Billy fumbled, bewildered, to which Dustin sighed dramatically and replied, “Give me your hand.”

Billy blinked, squinting, still not following what was going on.

“Your hand, give it.”

Irritated and looking over his shoulder as if shielding some kind of shady deal, Dustin snatched Billy’s hand, rolling up the sleeves to expose his bruised wrists and old scarring. He winced but didn’t say a word as he started to scrawl on the back of Billy’s hand.

“Is that - is that _permanent marker?”_ he exclaimed as Dustin kept writing.

“Yup, best I can do, so don’t complain. Think of it this way - at least you won’t lose it.” He sniggered and Billy nodded gratefully, taking his hand back and covering it with another protectively.

“Uh, thank you.”

Dustin smiled, “Don’t mention it.”

“What made you change your mind?” Billy enquired, curiously.

“It doesn’t matter, just know… If you in whatever way hurt him, I will ruin your life.” Dustin looked Billy dead in the eyes, his voice unwavering and sincere. Without breaking eye contact, he pointed to the CCTV camera.

Billy opened his mouth to counter but thought better of it, “Deal.”, he said, and he clung to the signpost as he moved to his feet, extending a hand to Dustin who reached out and grabbed it.

“Allllrighty then” He replied in his best Ace Ventura manner, standing to shake Billy’s hand awkwardly and raising his eyebrows as Billy leaned right in to smack his back instead.

Hands now slipped into his jacket pockets as he turned to leave, Billy piped up, “So, when’s best to, y’know?”

“Not tonight,” Dustin replied, dusting himself off, “He’s just done a 6 day stretch, give him a chance to rest.” Spotting Billy’s very subtle disappointment, he continued, “He’s got the next 2 days off though.”

Nodding appreciatively, Billy began walking but stopped again, turning to shout “Don’t tell him, yeah? This is just between you and me. It never happened.”

“Of course, you and me.” Dustin lied, and watched disoriented as the man strode into the night.

Sighing in relief, he rummaged in his pockets trying to find the much coveted bag of M&M’s and swore loudly at the darkness when he discovered they were missing. “Fucking…. Thieving bastard.” Dustin seethed, kicking the board outside the shopfront, cursing again as it fell over. Scrabbling to pick it up, he sulked, feeling deeply wounded at his lack of candy, and made his way indoors where his manager was waiting with his arms folded.

“Call me crazy, but that was the _longest_ 7 minute break I’ve ever seen.”

Dustin rubbed his forehead. He had completely forgotten about his curfew and he gritted his teeth, waiting for the axe to fall. “I’m sorry, it’s mom-”

“Oh yeah? How is she? Or should I say, He?” His boss looked at him knowingly, smirking as he did and Dustin froze. “Relax.” he said laughing, following Dustin as he made his way back to the till. “Besides, justice was served.” the man continued, gesturing with a grin to the snack section, finger pointed at the family sized M&M bags.

Dustin blushed, humiliated that he hadn’t noticed Billy’s hand slip into his pocket, and even more so that this bald fuck had seen it happen. “Fuck my life” he mumbled under his breath as he turned to greet a customer with an award-winning, fake smile.

 

* * *

 

 

The soft scent of early autumn wrapped its way around Billy’s body as he drifted through the night, eating Dustin’s M&M’s. He was in no rush to get home and with his heart racing, he looked at the deep blue and amber haze before him. Billy’s memory was a mess; something that had been growing progressively worse the past few weeks and it was disconcerting. He almost couldn’t remember the incident with Chris earlier that day and whilst this troubled him a bit, the high he was on elevated him above his concern.

Two ambulances sped past, wheels tearing through the puddles on the street, sirens blazing, but Billy paid them no attention as he looked at the messy writing on his hand. He felt like he was floating a little when he read the words, lips parting as he realised that Steve was only a 10 minute walk from his house. This was all very strange. He hadn’t felt like this before and he wasn’t entirely sure what it all meant, so he blamed it on the weed.

Watching the first of the falling leaves blow up and dance in the air, Billy allowed himself to space out. He knew he was high, but the night felt meant for him - like somehow he had power in this space and owned all the shadows within it. Here, on this sparsely populated, midnight road, he felt like he belonged; like he was untouchable.

Emptying the packet into his mouth, Billy tried to imagine how he would approach Harrington when the time came, but all he could see in his mindseye was the man's soft neck exposed. He tried again, looking at the streetlights in the trees as he did his best to think of what he would say, and once again, grew distracted remembering the bittersweet taste of him. Biting his lip, Billy gave in and allowed the fantasies to flood him, rounding the corner to his apartment building.

Steve didn’t hate him, Billy thought to himself on repeat as he nimbly sprung up the stairs. Did that mean Steve fantasized about him like Billy did? He had no idea, but it gave him a bizarre rush picturing the man sprawled out on a bed somewhere, touching himself to Billy’s image. He grinned as he walked through his door, slipping out of his jacket in a smooth movement, abandoning it on the floor as he drifted to the bathroom.

Shower now running, Billy stripped lazily, eyeing his reflection in the mirror as he did. He wondered if Steve liked what he saw and ran his hands over the scarring across his torso. “Not now.” Billy said aloud to himself, determined not to break the high, and returned his thoughts to Harrington as he stood under the hot water. For a moment, he wondered if the guy would fuck better than Chris and he doubled over fast, clutching his semi as he rode the relief of fantasy to distance himself from the memories agony.

Zoning out again, Billy gave up trying to think at all. No longer convinced of anythings reality, he turned off the shower, ignoring the towel to walk straight to his room and fall face first onto his bed. Billy made some muffled sounds into the sheets as he dragged his body to his pillow. He swore it had never felt this soft before and he spent a delirious minute rolling himself up in the bedding, trying to find the comfiest position to sleep. Dustin packed a powerful joint - there was no doubt about that, and as Billy lay there still too stoned to jack off, he thanked the kid for sharing, both arms wrapped around his pillow as he buried his face into it.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve awoke to the sound of the telephone ringing angrily through his home. Cursing, he opened his sleep filled eyes to pull his pillow over his head, praying for it to stop. It didn’t. “What the fuck? It’s the middle of the _fucking night!_ Who the hell is calling me?” He swore in disbelief as he tried to make out the numbers on his alarm. 12:45am.

The phone went quiet for a moment and Steve paused, reluctant to move, when it started again. “Jesus fucking Christ, I swear to God!” He yelled loudly into his dimly lit room, forcing himself out of bed and falling over Fudge, who yowled at him before crawling into his now vacant bed. Trudging into the living room in just his pants and socks, Steve glared at the phone. “Someone had better’ve died.” he scowled as he picked up the receiver.

“He-” He began and was immediately interrupted by a frantic voice.

“Steve!”

What the _fuck_ was Dustin doing calling so goddamn late? “Dustin, it’s almost 1 in the fucking morning.”

“I know, I-”

“Whatever you need to tell me it can wait”

“No, listen-”

“Tell me tomorrow, I’m going back to bed.” Steve said, beyond irritated, moving to hang up the phone when he heard Dustin yell out the speaker.

“It’s Billy!”

He paused, face screwed up in the darkness, completely stupefied as to why his friend was calling him about Hargrove in the middle of the damned night. “Billy? What’re you talking about?”

“Uh… shit, is he there?” Dustin asked, guiltily.

Sitting on the floor next to the phone, Steve replied suspiciously, “No? Why would he be?”

“Fuck, okay, well the thing is-”

“What?” Steve interrupted, voice raised with his head in his hands, “What the _hell_ is going on Dustin?”

His friend was silent for a moment, but before Steve could continue his grilling, the kid spoke “He’s gonna be coming to see you.”

Steve’s eyes widened instantly, his body alert as he scrambled to the window, peering out the blinds, _"W_ _HAT?!”_

“I - I told him not to come over tonight, I said you were resting, and I-”

_"You told him?!_ What were you telling him Dustin? What the - _fucking hell!”_ Steve swore in disbelief, adrenaline coursing through his body.

“I… Shit, I know how this sounds, look, he came to find _me.”_

“Find you?! Why was he looking for you?” He asked, frantically rooting around in the cabinet drawer for a cigarette. With hands shaking as he sparked up, Steve leaned out the window as far as the phone cable would allow, anxiously inhaling deep.

“Because he was looking for _you!”_

Sucking on the cigarette like it would somehow save his life, Steve shook his head and stared at the street in front of him, “I’m losing my mind, this is _fucking insane!_ Why is Billy looking for me?!” he barked down the phone.

“He… He said he wanted to talk.” Dustin tried, his voice wavering.

“That’s fucking likely.” Steve snorted into the cool night air.

“I think - I think he was being serious, Steve.”

Pausing to contemplate his friends words, he hit his head with the phone repeatedly before replying, “I don’t understand, why would he want to talk to me, and _why_ did he go to you?”

Dustin’s tone shifted to carry a hint of condemnation as he responded, “Because _someone_ told him I gave you his address.”

“Shit.” Steve winced, feeling suddenly guilty

“Yeah, shit! I could’ve been fired, man! He kept threatening to tell the whole STORE what I did if I didn’t talk to him.” Dustin said, angrily.

Curiosity peaking, Steve blanked his friends concern. “Really?”

“Really, really. I had to literally drag him outa the store.”

“You did?!” Steve spluttered, amazed, “Holy shit!”

“I’m on a disciplinary as it is, I was fucking pissed, dude.”

Exasperated, Steve pushed for answers, “I - so, he came to you to find me? How would he find me?”

“Please don’t be mad.” Dustin said, pleadingly but Steve was getting more aggravated by the second.

“What? What did you do?” He asked, threateningly.

“I… Shit, I gave him your address.”

“You did _WHAT?!”_ Steve yelled, standing up so suddenly he cracked the back of his head against the window above him, “fucking, stupid… WHY? Why the _hell_ did you do that?!” he continued furiously, rubbing his head as he paced around the dark room.

“I’m sorry,” Dustin pleaded, trying to calm his friend that was fast flying off the handle, “I didn’t know what to do, we were a little high - well he was really high - and jesus, Steve, he was so persistent. I told him, I told him if he hurt you I would fuck him up, but he _insisted_ he wasn’t going to. He had my balls in a fucking vice, man, I’m telling you.”

“He isn’t exactly gonna tell you if he’s gonna hurt me now, is he? You fucking idiot!” Steve spat, dragging his hands down his face dramatically as he smoked in the kitchen.

“No, but he was on CCTV the entire time. As he said, if he was going to mess you up, why would he come to _me_ in a crowded, camera monitored store, to get your address? Knowing the whole time I would gladly snitch."

“And you believed him?” Steve asked, dumbfounded.

“Yeah… I did.”

“Why?” he asked, trying to calm himself down by fiddling with the telephone cable.

“I dunno - I don’t know how to describe it. He, well, he seemed… _fuck.”_

“You didn’t… Dustin, please tell me you didn’t tell him what I told you…” The phone buzzed and crackled with Dustin’s guilty silence and Steve spun on his heel slamming his fist into the wall, _“JESUS H CHRIST, DUSTIN!”_

“I know! I know, I’m sorry - I didn’t tell him any details or anything, I promise, only that you told me…”

Running his hands through his hair desperately, Steve stubbed his cigarette in the Pepsi ashtray on the windowsill, trying to breathe steadily, “He wasn’t mad was he?” he asked, his hair standing up at all angles.

“No, not at all.”

Steve slumped onto one of the breakfast bar chairs holding his head again in silence.

“He seemed kinda excited, almost relieved, that you had spoken to me about it.”

Peering out from under his bangs, Steve’s brows slowly closed together as he replied, “What?”

“Caught me off guard too - He was curious about how you felt.”

“He was?” Steve asked, eyes drifting off around the room as his heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah, man.” Dustin answered.

“Fuck me.” He exhaled, softly.

“You still mad?” His friend tried with as much warmth as he could manage.

“Damn right I am.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing you guys talk?” Dustin suggested, still trying to lift his friends spirits.

“What gives you that idea?” Steve groaned, “Everytime we try or whatever, shit happens. We aren’t very good at talking.”

“Then maybe this could be a practice?”

Squinting into the gloom, Steve rubbed his temples, “Practice? Why?”

“Look, you both have a _thing_ going on. If you guys, y’know, like each other, maybe talking is a good idea?”

“I never said I liked him!” He retorted, defensively.

“I know, but it was kinda obvious you felt _something_ after last time.”

Blushing, Steve was starting to feel uncomfortably exposed, but something was tugging at him and he had to satisfy his curiosity. “You saying he likes me?”

Dustin sighed down the phone, “That’s not what I meant.”

“But you just said-”

“He just _seemed_ that way. He seemed genuinely relieved that you didn’t hate him, and the only reason I can think of to explain that reaction is, that he genuinely cares about your opinion of him. Billy Hargrove cares, dude.”

“Oh.” Steve replied weakly, a hand moving instinctively to the place on his neck which used to carry Billy’s mark and he felt his abdomen warm to Dustin’s words.

“We good now?” His friend asked, sounding tired himself now.

“Yeah, I guess, but you’ve gotta stop giving out people’s addresses Dustin, that shit’s private.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it - it’s done now.” Steve said reassuringly, slipping off the chair and continuing his pacing of the living room. “So… did he say when he was coming over?”

“No. If he isn’t there now, then tomorrow maybe?”

Steve swallowed anxiously, cheeks burning as vivid images of Billy on his knees forced him to cross his legs, “Shit.”

“It could be good y’know? Maybe it will be okay?” Dustin said, doing his best to be comforting.

“Yeah… okay… it’ll be okay… Uh, I’m gonna go to bed, I can’t…” He stammered, mind elsewhere.

“Shit, yeah, sorry I called so late I just got home from work and I thought it was best I tell you-”

“It’s fine.”

“Well, it’s not and I felt bad, don’t tell him i told y-”

“Dustin, I’m going to bed. Don’t worry, I’m not mad, I just need to sleep.”

“Um, okay, if you say so, talk to you tomorrow?”

“Sure, G’night.” Steve managed before slamming the phone back in its cradle.

Screaming internally and totally wired now, Steve knew sleep would be a long time coming but even so, he slunk back to his room. Ushering Fudge out of his bed, he slipped into the sheets and laid on his back looking at the silhouettes of leaves projected by the street lights onto his ceiling. He wanted to punch his friend in the head over and over again for landing him in this situation, but Steve knew it wasn’t his fault and he was too tired to overthink. Tomorrow - tomorrow he would panic. Rolling over onto his stomach, he ignored his hard-on pressing into the bed and waited for sleep to take him away from this madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did somebody say **Dialogue!!!!!**
> 
> Okay, so have some fun! haha! I really want Billy and Dustin to bond in a totally different way to he and Steve. Dustin from what i remember has a very hot temper and is reactive, similarly to Billy. It was one of the things I loved about the Dustin/Steve BFF pairing, because the two were similar but opposites. With Dustin/Billy i want there to be more simularities than differences. I like the idea that Billy cannot handle his weed at all, despite being hard as hell and able to survive just about anything else. I also like the idea that these guys would scrap. Dustin isn't short/weak in my storyline at all, I am picturing a massive growth spurt which leaves him taller than Steve and Billy. He isn't 'built' like Billy, but Dustin - unlike the rest of his old crew (except Max) - seemed more like the kinda kid who would quite happily dive into a fight, if driven to it.  
> I wanna create a character for him where he is being continually treated as 'the kid', despite being in his 20's. Mostly because of how he lives his life and presents himself; casual stoner living at his moms, gaming and watching movies all day with his menial job at Blockbusters, hanging around his stoner mates and that 'one adult friend' *cough* Steve *cough*. He could be seen as an adult... if he behaved like one, but unless it comes to micromanaging Steve's meltdowns, he finds himself forever the teen.  
> Billy on the other hand, this was tough. I have plans for him which will explain his inconsistencies in conversation and behaviour but that is a long time coming. I wanted him to be better spoken than most, prone to swearing yes, but speaks well and comfortably. I wanted him to be playful as well but it's one of those things where i will know more about my version of Hargrove as I write his dialogue. I really want to shape him as a bit of a dreamer at times, who has to seek the good in small things like the ambience to survive and carry on, which weed does help with.  
> Finally, I hoped that by having all 3 characters having their own scenes would show the differences in how Dustin behaves to both Billy and Steve. Billy he treats more as a confused equal but with Steve, he wrongly puts him on a pedestal - hense his shock when Steve assaults Billy in Chap 4. Billy doesn't try and mask being... a dick, so to Dustin, this makes things easier. He doesnt have to juggle as many layers as he does with Steve, even though Billy is hugely guarded. 
> 
> Next chapter we will have some Goodness(ish) coming in as Billy arrives at Steve's to try and secure his punishment. Commence powerplay, mindgames and filth.
> 
> Thank you all for reading as always. I am in a very dark place at the moment so these chapters are carrying me though, I hope they bring you lot joy too.
> 
> Kit


	12. Trebuchet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As his shift comes to an end, Billy is more than a little anxious about his reunion with Steve. Having noticed the man's nerves, George Brown attempts to give him dating advice that leaves Billy stumped. Now, somehow more apprehensive, Billy begins the journey to Steve's house, intent on doing things the 'right way', but his Persecutor has different ideas. Meanwhile, Steve is busy destroying his kitchen and accidentally injuring himself in an attempt to keep occupied. He has spent the entire day waiting for Billy to show up and he is on the edge. As Steve greets Billy at the door, bleeding and swearing, is it possible for these two to talk? Or will desperation and need take over, further blurring the lines of morality. 
> 
> Content warning: Dubious Consent.

Clock watching had begun. Terminally anxious, Billy paced behind the bar looking for anything to distract him from what was to come at the end of his shift. At a loss, he grabbed one of the Biro's out of his pocket, the clipboard from under the till and set upon stock taking. Crouching behind the counter, Billy checked the sell-by dates on all foods, slinging into the trash packets that didn’t meet the cut. He could tell he was stressed from this action alone; stocktaking was always his most loathed duty but right now, it was just another way to shut out the voices in his head.

Billy was conflicted in his excitement to see Steve. For one, he had become steadily convinced this was a really bad move, still cautious following the ‘incident’, but oddly enough it was this fear that motivated him. As fucked up as it was, all Billy wanted to do was be around Steve - in any context. It had become all he could think about, and he knew there was no way he would allow himself to return home without breathing him in again. Steve had well and truly anchored himself into Billy’s brain and the only way he could function past this point was to get the man to snap again.

So wrapped up was Billy that he didn’t notice George crouching next to him, grinning as he stared vacantly at a bag of chips for the second minute in a row.

“Y’alright kid?”

Billy jumped and slung the packet into the trash bag, shaking his head hurriedly as he turned to George, eyes wide. “Huh?”

The man chuckled to himself, his big hand patting Billy on the back as he tried to stand. “Calm yourself, I was just asking if you were okay. You seem a bit -”

“I’m fine, seriously, just tired.” Billy said, snapping out of his trance and smiling weakly at his coworker.

George raised a singular eyebrow, clearly not convinced of Hargrove's reply and sighed, “When are you not tired?”

Unsure what to say, Billy just snorted, turning his back on the man as he pretended to be busy, adjusting his appearance every chance he could in the reflective surfaces.

George watched Billy button and unbutton his shirt repeatedly, fiddle with the hair falling over his face and pose a few times in the mirror behind the bar before breaking the ice, “Hot date tonight, eh?”

Billy flinched, “What?” he asked anxiously, burying a blush.

“Going deaf as well, Hargrove?” George replied, shaking his head, “Do you have a date?”

_“Stupid fucking man, tell him to get his fat nose out of our business.”_

“Shut up! Not now” Billy hissed at his demon who was lounging over the counter pretending to eat olives.

“What was that?” George asked suspiciously, brow furrowed.

Shit, he hadn’t realised he’d said that aloud. “Nothing, sorry.” He said quickly, not wanting to offend the guy who was trying to be his friend. George said nothing and raised that all-knowing left eyebrow again until Billy buckled under the pressure. “It’s not exactly a date.” He replied eventually, trying to deflect George’s attention from his instability. It seemed to work.

“Oh yeah? How so?” the man said with a warm smile.

_“Oh for fucks sake, this is a joke, don’t reply. Do not reply.”_

Irritated but trying to be civil, Billy decided to humour George with the hope that the line of enquiry would cease. “I dunno, I’m just going to meet them, see what happens. Nothing special.”

George was immune to Billy’s passive aggression and leaned his large body across to him, digging his elbow into Billy’s ribs, “First time?”             

_“HA!”_

“I’m not a virgin, idiot, do I look like a virgin?” Billy scoffed, still looking a little bewildered.

“That’s not what I meant,” George laughed, taking the clipboard from Billy who was clearly not capable of working, “I mean, first time meeting… what’s her name?”

Billy groped desperately for any fucking girls name but drew a blank, mumbling as he answered, “Stephanie? And no, it’s not”

George had thankfully overlooked Billy’s blunder and continued, stroking his beard and pretending to be deep in thought, “hmm, so, it’s not a date, not your first time meeting her…”.  

Catching the tone in George’s voice, Billy sighed, “We have… a chequered history, let’s put it that way.”                                                        

_“If you consider almost killing each other, getting assaulted and sucking dick a history, that is.”_

“Shut _up!”_ Billy seethed under his breath again as he watched his headmate grab his crotch and thrust the air.

Oblivious, George continued, pulled in by Billy’s evasiveness, “a history eh? So, is this like some kind of reconciliation then?”

“I guess you could say that” He replied, turning back to the mirror again.

“Any plans for this noble mission?”

Billy groaned inwardly. Goddamnit. George wasn’t gonna quit. Trying his best to strangle the wretched critic bitching away in his head, Billy chose to focus on the good intentions behind his colleagues questioning. Breathing in deep and looking at his boots, he nodded his head once and spun around, leaning on the tap to give George what he wanted. “Uhh, no, not really. I was just gonna go to her house and-” A loud, deep laughter stopped Billy in his tracks as the man shook his head and wiped tears from his eyes. What the fuck was so funny now?

“No. No, no, no. Oh my boy. You have to have a plan. Take it from me, a veteran in this area. What’s your _goal_ from this reunion with Stephanie?”

_“Torment the bastard until he hurts us again.”_

“Goal?”

“Yeah, what d’you want to come out of this ‘not-date’?”

Back to blushing again, Billy tried to think of something to say, “Well-”

“Say no more, I hear you.” George elbowed Billy in the ribs again, shooting him with a cheeky grin, “Well if _that’s_ the case, then you gotta seduce.”

“Oh really?” Billy said, sniggering to himself, “you some kinda love guru now, George?”

The man reeled back as he feigned being offended, “I’ll have you know, I was quite the charmer back in my day.”

“Pffff, uhuh.”

“I had girls trailing after me wherever I went. A right heart-breaker I was, you should’ve seen me Billy.”

Watching George twirl his moustache, Billy raised his eyebrows, smiling naturally now. “Wow, well fuck me, standards must’ve been _low_ in England.”

Roaring with laughter again, Mr Brown slapped Billy so hard on the back he almost fell over. “You don’t catch a hardened woman like Beth without knowing a thing or two about seduction, young Hargrove.”

“Alright, Yoda, bestow onto me your aged advice. Maybe the dark ages can teach me something.”

The pair bent over the sink, looking eye to eye, “Well, first things first, you’ve gotta establish what - Stephanie, was it?” Billy nodded. “What Stephanie wants. It can’t be all about you.”

Billy looked at the ceiling briefly as he thought about what George suggested.

“Do you know what she’s after?”

Face screwing up, Billy exhaled slowly, “No idea.”

“Okay, is she _interested?”_

“Unsure.”

George puffed his cheeks and joined Billy in looking at the grimy, polystyrene ceiling, before rolling over to pour a drink. “Tough one. I reckon,” He began as Billy removed his apron, finally done for the day, “I reckon, you gotta go soft at first - you can’t make your intentions obvious until you assess their receptiveness.”

Staring at the hard liquor filling the glass with hungry eyes, Billy recalled Steve’s tendency to go stone cold and groaned. “But, what if they give nothing away?” he asked miserably.

“They will. No one is that unreadable.” George replied, passing Billy the drink as he sat on his favourite stool. “You have to learn their cues.”

Billy sipped from the glass, curling his lips as the vice burned his tongue. Steve’s cues? Shit. Aside from getting hard, freaking out and rolling his eyes, Billy couldn’t think of any. “Uh, okay… Go on.”

“When you notice her interest, _then_ you make suggestions. Not obviously, mind you, just little ones here and there to test the water.”

Face strained, Billy felt his confidence fade by the second. “What if h-she still shows nothing? What if she fucking hides it, George?” Billy asked, confused by how seriously he was taking this, his mouth still glued to the alcohol.

“Hard to get, eh? My Beth was like that. It took everything in my arsenal to get those walls to fall.” George replied, looking pained for a moment before returning to his jolly self.

“Ha! Uh, less ‘hard-to-get’, more ice queen.” he grimaced.

“I see, I see… Well… If that’s the case, then you have to be the heat. _You_ have to be the battering ram, the canon and boiling tar. If you _know_ she is interested, you gotta bring down those frozen towers, kid.”

Billy placed the glass onto the counter and slouched over it, scratching his head as he tried to understand the mans concept. “How the fuck am I supposed to do that if I am being subtle?”

“Oh, at this point, ditch the subtlety.”

Nose screwed up and eyebrows tightly knotted, Billy looked at George in despair, “What? I don’t… You just said-”

“I know what I said,” The man interrupted, his voice sympathetic with humorous undertones, “But that was before, when subtlety would have worked. Now you’ve gotta be blunt - let your intentions be known.”

“So, let me get this straight. You’re saying I should just… tell her?”

“Jeez Louise! You’re hopeless!” George chuckled pitifully at Billy who flipped him the finger, angrily. “This is not just a chase, Billy, it’s a bloody _siege_. You are the opposing faction - the one wanting in. You want the treasure that hides behind the portcullis right? You want everything behind that guarded fortress so badly you’re willing to go to fucking war, right?” Billy nodded, drawn into the drama and intensity, “Well then, you have to play the game. You don’t just walk up to the keep and shout “Oh hey, you, I know we don’t see eye to eye, but can you let me in so I can, y’know, invade your citadel?”. That will only get you shot in the head and force them to raise that drawbridge forever.”

I am fucking _doome d_ _,_ Billy thought to himself, still trying to follow George’s train of thought. “Yeah, but - Ah, fuck it. You’ve lost me.”

“Right, fair point, maybe I’m being too obscure.”

“Y’think?!”

George held his bearded chin in his hand before trying again, “You have to set up lures. Figure out what will draw her out of that tower and dangle it in front of her. Tease her with it until you notice her poke that pretty head out.”

Both Billy and his Persecutor straightened up, mind spinning as the pair fired ideas at each other in secret. Containing his wicked smile, he nodded, “Okay, got it, go on.”

George matched Billy’s grin and began to stride behind the bar, using his hands to gesture like a college professor, “Next, you lay down snares and traps. Nothing bad - I’m not endorsing anything _bad_ here; just things that will hook ‘em. Things that she cannot resist, if you catch my drift. You’ve already caught the queens interest and she is ready to leave her keep for parlay. Now you have to lock that shit down so you can approach her without them running away.”

Billy was confused again, he couldn’t help it. It was like George was talking in riddles - What was the guys obsession with medieval history? Are all Brits like this? “This is a lost cause.” He mumbled, dejected, sipping his drink again.

“You don’t have to know what this ‘hook’ is yet, it will come to you in the moment.”

“I fucking hope so.”

“Okay,” George started, trying to keep Billy’s hopes up, “So let’s presume all this has gone well. Your ‘ice queen’ has come down from her castle, lured out by whatever bright shiny thing you have left for them. She’s found herself hypnotised in it’s reflection and is distracted, guards down in expectation.” He waited for his student to nod before he moved on with his analogy, “You are left with two choices. One, you scrap the parlay, flip the table, sling her over your shoulder and like a one man army, storm her castle-”

“I like that idea” Billy mused to himself.

“I bet you bloody do, but hear me out. With that, you may get what you want in the moment, but you risk all out rejection. She will tear you apart and with all the force she has, she will skin you and hang you outside her walls.”

Billy winced at the imagery.

“You will never come back from that. No truce. You would be lord of the land for one day and one day only.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s your alternative?”

“You enter into a discussion.” George smiled softly at Billy’s dramatic groaning and continued, “You have to come to an agreement where you get what you want and she gets what she wants. Chances are, Stephanie isn’t unreasonable, she probably has reasons for those fierce defences as my Beth does. Be mindful of that Hargrove.”

Billy inhaled deeply, looking dazed at his coworker who was staring him dead in the eye. He definitely preferred the idea of claiming Steve through warfare, but negotiation? Fuck. When did this become so damn complicated. “What if she doesn’t want to agree to anything? What if she… what if she runs back to the castle?” He said, trying to play into George’s metaphor.

The man sighed, his tone sincere, “Then it’s over. You let her run. You respect her decision _always_ . In that situation, you come back here, get hammered and bitch to me. Then you go home and move on. This is a game and you can _always_ lose, but it’s how you lose that is important.”

 _“Fuck that, Old Man. Don’t listen to him B, Steve didn’t show_ _you_ _this kindness did he? He isn’t worth the consideration. He didn’t stop. Eye for an Eye. You’re not looking for love here - if he says no, so what? Make him say yes.”_

Horrified by the commentary coming from his shade who was now trembling with rage, Billy downed the rest of his glass. “No, I know. I just _need_ this to go well, y’know?”

George tilted his head to the side and tousled Billy’s hair fondly, to which Billy smacked his hand away sharply. “The heart is a mysterious demoness and we are all her slaves.” He said wistfully, moving to replenish the defeated mans glass, “For the nerves.”

“Thanks.” Billy grumbled. “How’s Beth by the way? Did she get her break?” He asked, trying to change the subject.

George looked into the distance and frowned sadly, no longer able to maintain eye contact. “She’s… She’s been given three days.”

Desperate to ignore his own problems, Billy turned all his attention to the man who was suddenly crestfallen. “You don’t sound too happy about that.”

“She’s not been herself. Something’s not quite right and I have no idea what I’ve done wrong.”

“Why? What d’you mean?” he asked, concerned.

Grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniels and checking to see if anyone else was watching, George poured himself a double and hung his head. “I… don’t know. Usually, even in the darkest times, Beth shines bright. Like my own private sun, blasting away all shadows. It’s what I have always cherished about her. When she cannot smile anymore, she still has _warmth_. But…” He trailed off, sipping at his glass. Billy did the same.

“What?”

“Her light… It’s just… flickered out of existence. She came home from work yesterday and hardly said a word. She smiled occasionally, but it was like she wasn’t there.”

“You sure she wasn’t just tired?”

“Maybe, but this morning… She was really agitated; couldn’t focus on anything, zoning out and then snapping at me if I came near her. It was like she didn’t recognise me, Billy. My wife of thirty years looked at me like I was some stranger for offering her a cup of tea.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Billy began, unsure of what to do. He had never seen George like this before and everything else aside, he wanted him to be okay. “From what you’ve told me, she’s been worked to the point of breaking. If this virus is as bad as you’ve said it is, maybe she is struggling to deal with it, y’know? What was it… five people dead in a week? All dying from this terrifying disease no one knows the cause of. That’s a lot to process, especially if she is the one treating them.”

“Maybe you’re right.” George replied, genuinely appreciative of Billy’s support, “I won’t be too hard on her, will keep my distance and be there when she needs me.” Swallowing the last of the whiskey, he squeezed Billy’s shoulder, “You’re a good kid, Hargrove.”

 _“HA!”_ His persecutor cackled, clutching their sides and smacking the table, _“hahahaha! What a tool, oh man, your disguise is a work of_ _art_ _. If only he knew, ahaha.”_

“Hardly, and I’m an almost thirty in case you hadn’t noticed - I’m not a kid.”

“Sure… We all have kids in us Billy. There’s nothing wrong with letting them loose a bit.”

For reasons he couldn’t understand, Billy cringed at George’s words. They stung. He wondered for a moment what it would be like to be a kid, just for a day, but flattened the thought immediately as his chest welled with sadness. He stood, looking over George’s shoulder to ensure his chest was revealed just right and tried to tease the curl on his forehead into the perfect position.

“Take your hair down.”

“Huh?”

“Your hair, take it down.” George sidled in beside Billy and gestured to the mirror, “Gives you this kinda, ‘new romantic’ look.” Freezing on the spot, Billy stared at the man as he took the hair tie out and straightened his shirt. What the hell was he doing? Why was he helping like this? Still rooted in place, he restrained himself as George spotted the necklace, turning it in his fingertips. “That’s a lovely chain, Billy.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer, it was too much. Moving his hands quickly, he took the pendant back possessively from George, holding it close to his chest, “Thanks, it was my moms.”

George nodded understandably and gave Billy his space, “Well, it’s beautiful. Treasure it.”

Nodding to the man, Billy shrugged his jacket on and went to leave the bar, turning to his friend as he did, “Any chance of another? For the nerves and all?”

“No chance. You can’t lead a siege drunk, young Padawan.”

Billy rolled his eyes, “Right, sure. Thank you. For everything.”

His smile twisted with concern, George tipped an imaginary hat to the man, “Hey, no problem. Look after yourself and have fun. Blow Stephanie’s mind, y’hear?”

Back to George and walking past the random drunks hovering around their tables, Billy snorted, “Oh, I will, trust me. Send my love to Beth, okay?”

“I will, see you on Monday.”

“Yeah, Monday.” And with that, Billy walked into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

_“Game on Billy! Game on!”_

The door had hardly closed behind him as his asshole of a companion strode alongside him, ready to make him pay. “Shut up, will you _please_ go away.” Billy groaned into the wind.

_“Nope, you need me B. You’re hopeless without me. If I left, it would just be you fumbling like a bitch over Harrington's every word, never getting anywhere. I will get you what you need, it’s what I do.”_

Exasperated, Billy did his best to focus on George’s words of wisdom with the hope the kind voice would block out the toxic one filling his ears.

_“Ignore the old fool, he doesn’t know shit.”_

“And you do?”

 _“Of course I do, bonehead. How many times do I have to say it -_ _I am you_ _.”_

Fucking hell. How was he supposed to do anything right with this… thing twisting his every thought. Billy glared at the shadowy version of himself stretching alongside him, flipping off the bats that twisted and dove in the sky around them.

_“Steve isn’t gonna be interested in all that bullshit. He isn’t going to care about any of it. Yeah, sure, you’re a hunter, but you want that trophy lion to attack you. You wanna piss that lion off to the point it smacks the knife out of your hand and pins you to the ground.”_

Billy licked his lips without thinking as he imagined Steve overpowering him but quickly shunned the idea guiltily, the demons hands tracing down his exposed chest.

_“There you go, y’see? You get it.”_

“No, no I don’t, this is fucking absurd, people don’t… work this way.” He tried, one step away from putting his hands over his ears and running from the voice that followed him everywhere he went.

_“You’re still hoping for a connection? Oh darling, that isn’t going to happen. You can shed those dreams for a start. There is no romance here. You are an addict. Pain is the drug and Steve is your dealer. It’s as simple as that.”_

Disconcerted by his persecutors attempt at sympathy, he snarled back into the night, “Simple? This is anything _but_ simple.”

 _“Only if you make it that way. You’re just getting your ‘fix’ from a man who has_ _no_ _problem hurting you.”_

Billy tried to ignore the memory creep back and looked around him, suddenly not recognising his surroundings. Where the fuck am I? Shit. Panic rose in his stomach as he searched for a clue and he breathed a sigh of relief, spotting a 7-Eleven in the distance. Right, he knew where he was. Taking a moment to figure out the best route to Steve’s house, he attempted again to reason with himself. “He apologised. That’s over, it’s done. He went out of his way to-”

_“Ahaha! And you believed it? Dumbass. He was only soothing his own guilt. He didn’t care about you. It was a selfish act, stop trying to humanise him - Steve used you, so now you use him.”_

He could feel his conscience waning as the creature persisted. Billy couldn’t fight them on this, they had a point. Maybe it was fair, maybe they were right.

 _“That’s right - see?”_ The spectre crooned, nuzzling itself into Billy’s neck who blinked, feeling very distant, before spinning off in front of him, _“It’s not that bad, is it? I’ve got you covered Billy, I’ll look after you. Believe in me, trust me, I will get him to do what you want.”_

 

* * *

  
  
Steve was on his fifth coffee of the day. Hands shaking with his body wired, he had done everything he could to stay occupied. Laundry done, dishes washed, bins emptied, floors hoovered… Hell, he’d even washed the windows and dusted the sides. It wasn’t enough. He glanced over his immaculate home from his nest on the couch, stroking Fudge anxiously. There was nothing else he could do cleaning wise, he has surpassed himself but Steve was still a wreck.

He was hungry now, being nervous _always_ left him hungry, but he had refused to cook properly just in case Billy was to show up at that moment. Somehow, he had gotten through the entire, manic day on caffeine, nicotine and toast alone. Problem was, it was reaching 8pm and his stomach was protesting Steve’s neglect. Shit.

Clutching his belly, he tried for the final time to immerse himself into Tremors but it was impossible. “Fucking hell, Fudge. This is torture. I have no idea when that asshole is supposed to show up, I dunno what the fuck I am supposed to be doing.” He said to the cat who couldn’t care less. “Screw it, Billy is gonna have to wait, I need to eat.”

Standing up and arching his back, he trudged into the kitchen moodily with Fudge following him closely. He picked the cat up, slinging them over his shoulder as he eyed the contents of his cupboards. “What the hell was Dustin thinking? If he’d kept his stupid mouth shut, I could’ve continued about my day blissfully unaware of the impending shitstorm. I could’ve done anything. But no.” Steve grumbled moodily at his feline therapist who clung to his shoulders with their claws, grabbing jars from the shelves and thudding two pans on the stove.

“I’m not asking for much, am I? All I want is for Dusting to mind his own fucking business.” He complained, quickly peeling an onion and dicing it with a skilled hand. Checking to see if the oil had heated in the larger pan, he scraped the contents of the chopping board into it and waited for them to brown, stirring more than usual. “No, you’re right,” Steve said as Fudge leapt off of his shoulders to go find his bowl, “That would be too much to ask.”. Setting to work butchering some peppers, he continued to babble to no one at all, if only to keep the cyclical thoughts out of his stupid brain, “What the fuck does he want from me? It’s getting late, I have done nothing but be a complete _dick_ to him. What in the world would possess Billy to wanna be anywhere _near_ me, I don’t understand.”

Steve was lost in his ranting, grumpy and hungry. He looked down, ready to add the peppers to the pan and yelled loudly when he saw the blood. “OH _SHIT!”_ he swore in disbelief, looking at his thumb that was now gushing onto the chopping board. “Shit, shit, _shit!”._ Shoving the wounded digit into his mouth, he sucked on it trying to stop the bleeding as he crashed around his cabinets trying to find a band-aid.

Fudge had heard the commotion and left his bowl to come join him in the kitchen again, his high pitched yowling marrying the sizzling coming from the pans as Steve tore into the packet with his teeth. Pushing past the cat, he glanced over to the pan and swore again noticing the onions starting to burn. “NO!” he yelled, one hand now under the cold tap whilst the other tried to reach to turn the hob off.

“You see?! This is what I mean! I can’t… I can’t _deal_ with all this shit! It’s too much!” Giving up on the pan, he whipped his thumb from under the tap, wiping it dry on his white shirt and swore again as the stain blossomed. It was then the bell rang.

Steve punched the wall hard and pulled back, eyes watering as he stared at his throbbing knuckles. “No fucking _way!_ Not now. This has to be some _fucking cosmic joke!”_ he seethed, slamming the hob off and scrambling to get the bandaid on his still bleeding thumb with shaking hands, almost tripping over Fudge as he fought his way to the front door. Shit, fuck, pretend this isn’t a complete fucking disaster, play it cool Steve, play it cool.

Sweating, bleeding and almost panting, Steve opened the door with his wounded hand and stared in horror as the band-aid fell onto the floor. Without thinking, he kicked it behind him, praying to God it had stuck to the bottom of his sock so the man now standing before him wouldn’t notice it. He stood there, unsure of what to say, trying to catch his breath.

“He told you, didn’t he?” Billy asked, unimpressed.

“Yup” Steve managed, nodding.

“Meddling little shit.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Dustin for you.” Steve replied, still standing in the doorway, trying to act like he wasn’t a complete mess.

They stood in silence, Steve’s thumb bleeding onto the door frame he unsubtly clung to until Billy wrinkled his nose and spoke, “Something burning?”

Steve swore loudly, hitting his head, “Shit, _fuck!_ Yeah, uh, I thought-” he began, before tearing off back into the kitchen.

“Shall I just-”

“Yeah, come in. Excuse all this.. Bullshit… This whole thing has become chaos.” Steve yelled behind him in despair, skidding to the one hob he hadn’t turned off, throwing the pan in the sink. What the _fuck_ must he be thinking right now?! Oh my god, this couldn’t have gone any worse, he thought to himself as he stared at the blood all over the side. Oh no, what if he thinks this is a dinner date? What if he thinks I am trying to cook him _dinner?!_ Jesus Christ.

“Uh, sorry about the mess, I was trying to cook - hardly eaten all day.” Steve said as he turned to face Billy, gesturing humiliated to the destroyed kitchen. He watched as Billy raised his eyebrows and smirked, “Uhuh, I can see that. No worries.” The man replied as he walked into Steve’s open plan living room.

 

* * *

  
  
This… was… Well, Billy couldn’t have imagined this entrance in his wildest daydreams. The house was spotless, perfectly presented and amazingly coordinated and yet there was blood on the floor. He exhaled slowly, hands in his pockets as he took it all in. Holy shit, the curtains matched the cushions. Walking slowly around the room, Billy smiled in approval as he noticed the shelves by the fireplace crammed with CD’s and the small cabinet containing Steve’s vinyl collection.

He couldn’t quite believe it. The man swearing to himself in the kitchen, bleeding all over the sides with a band-aid stuck to his sports socks had _taste_. It was ridiculously tidy. Billy loved it, but he felt horrendously out of place next to the house plants and plush rug. He looked for any evidence of the Steve Harrington he knew and smiled again when he spotted the indentation from fists in the wall. That’s better.

Everything was perfect, even the kitchen that at present looked like a bomb had gone off, was perfect. It fascinated him and Billy wished he could take the time to explore the house, but it was then he noticed the fluffy cat bed.

“You have a cat? _”_ Billy asked, suppressing his shock. He loved cats.

Steve didn’t look around as he replied, scraping the contents of the ruined pan into the garbage disposal, “Yeah, Fudge. They’re probably wondering around somewhere, waiting to cause havoc.”

Billy looked around, kneeling low to look under the coffee table where he found the big, scruffy ginger cat. “They?” He asked, coaxing the animal out from its hiding place.

Steve shrugged and said nothing.

Fudge eyed Billy suspiciously before making their way over to him, at which point Billy scooped the cat up gently and stroked its chin. “Y’mean you don’t know if they are a boy or a girl?”

Steve turned to look at the pair and awkwardly tried to crush his smile, “Uh, no, I never really thought about it to be honest. They’ve always been… well, Fudge.”

Shshing the cat reassuringly, Billy rolled the cat over to inspect, “Congratulations, it’s a girl.”

“Fudge is a _girl?!”_ Steve exclaimed, eyes shooting open.

Billy laughed quietly, “Yup, big one too.” he said, before letting the cat lay on his chest and broad shoulders as he continued his exploration of Steve’s house.

 

* * *

  
  
Steve watched Billy out of the corner of his eye. It was mind boggling watching Hargrove be so… goddamn normal. How did the addition of his greasy cat somehow make the picture _more_ normal? He had to distract himself, this was stupid. Billy had only been in his home for five minutes and Steve was already having to force himself to not look at the man’s thighs. Pan now washed and dried, he placed it back on the hob, ready to try again and cracked open a bottle of red.

“Did you want a drink?” He asked, motioning to the bottle in his hand.

“Hm? Yeah, sure.” Billy replied, scratching Fudge’s back affectionately.

“You can sit down y’know,” Steve started, simultaneously wiping down the bloody sides and getting out two glasses from the cupboard above him, “and you don’t need to pander to Fudge. They - sorry, _she_ is a bit of an attention whore.” He poured Billy’s glass and turned to his own, filling it all the way to the top unashamedly.

“Nah, she’s alright.” Billy said as he slipped onto one of the tall, breakfast bar stools, with Fudge still on his shoulders, purring loudly.

Turning to present the man with his glass of wine, Steve felt a pang of jealousy watching Billy’s ease with Fudge. “She likes you.” He said, a slight edge to his words.

“Animals generally do,” He answered, looking at the glass and leaving it for the moment, “I’ve never understood it, personally.”

Oh man, of course animals liked him. Steve turned around and drank deep from his glass, warmth building within him as he pictured Billy holding his cat with bare arms post workout. Stop, no! This isn’t allowed. He took another mouthful of the wine for good measure before calling behind him, “I’ve gotta sort out all this out again because I’m a fucking idiot - do you mind?”

“Go ahead, I’m fine.” Came the reply and Steve relaxed a little, selecting another onion and preparing to get to work.

 

* * *

  
  
_“You’re procrastinating Billy, fuck the small talk.”_

Waving away the voice, Billy frowned at the red wine in front of him. Why was it always red? Hiding his disappointment at the lack of rose, he gave it a taste and nodded to himself, pleasantly surprised. Okay, just about palatable. Steve was being oddly courteous and this left him feeling a bit odd. He liked it. He liked sitting at this table with Fudge on his shoulder, watching the man casually cook.

_“Are you even listening to me? Hey! Dickhead! Stop swooning and get your head in the game.”_

“Some temper your friend has.” Billy said, swirling the wine in it’s glass.

Steve snorted, “Aha, yeah, he means well but-”

“He’s compulsively drawn to drama, to the point of creating it himself?” He finished, amused as he drank from the glass.

To his delight, Steve laughed happily, grabbing a jar of pasta as he spoke, “Oh, so you _do_ know him?”. The man smirked and threw a few handfuls into the other pan.

“I know his type.” Silence hung in the air for a while longer and Billy watched as his persecutor jumped over the counter to point to Steve, black eyes furious as they opened their mouth to speak. Billy spoke first, “He’s very protective over you.”

Steve turned and Billy tried not to wince as his arm swung through his nonexistent monster, “Huh? In what way?”

Billy lowered his shoulder to let Fudge crawl off of him sleepily to his bed and moved the glass to the side, not entirely sure what to do with his hands now there was no cat to fiddle with. “He put up quite a fight. Stupid pothead would’ve taken a beating had he thought it’d keep you safe. Admirable really.”

He studied the man carefully as his cheeks flushed. “I s’pose, It’s rare he gets properly fighty though” Steve said, lowering a lid onto the pasta and setting it to simmer, picking up a large kitchen knife to dice the onion.

 _“I am this fucking close to taking over man, this fucking close”_ The shade spat, it’s clawed fist hitting the wall over and over. Face twitching subtly, Billy bit back his discomfort and pushed onwards. “So, what did the lil stoner say exactly?”

 

* * *

  
  
Steve gagged as Billy’s question hung in the air. “I guess we’re just going straight for it then, Merlot please save me.”, he whispered to the glass, still trying to play it cool.

“Just that you wanted to talk.”

“Was that all?”

“Yeah.” Steve replied curtly, clearly lying as he felt Billy’s eyes on him.

“I see.”

Still unable to look around, he paused his dicing, “So… do you? Want to talk, I mean.”

He felt sick as he waited for the reply, “I guess.” he heard Billy say nonchalantly.

This was like trying to get water from a fucking _stone_ , he thought to himself. How did it go from easy conversation to this? “Okay - what did you want to talk about?” Steve asked as he resumed preparing the food.

“I dunno.”

Steve rolled his eyes to the back of his head and checked to see if the oil had reheated. Satisfied, he scraped the onions back into the pan, praying this time, nothing would go wrong. “Right. Did you even want to talk or what?” He asked, braving it as he turned to face Billy, hips leaning against the oven.

“Truth?”

“Truth.”

“Not really.”

Unable to hide his confusion and irritation, Steve rolled away to grab some non-bloody peppers. “Okay… So… Why’re you here then?”

 

* * *

  
  
Billy squirmed. He hadn’t thought this far ahead and talking was _hard_. He tried to remember George’s analogy and did his best to consider which part of the metaphorical siege he was at, but he was far too confused. He had caught the queens attention; they had come down from that tower and were standing at the gates ready to talk shit through, but Billy had no rebuttal. He felt like he was standing there with his entire army behind him, all staring at him and waiting for his move and he was just staring at a wine glass leaning against a trebuchet whilst they screamed at him to just do something.

_“This is pathetic, say something! Rescue this quick or I promise you, I will.”_

Eyes still fixed on the glass, Billy said the only thing he could think of, “About the last time.” He looked up long enough to see Steve bypass his own wine glass and grab the bottle, necking it. “After the apology…”

Steve was clearly uncomfortable but Billy could see he was trying to mask it, wiping the residual wine from the corner of his lips, the man eventually spoke, “What about it?”.

Establish what they like, figure out what he wants. “Did you like it?” Billy enquired bluntly.

Almost spitting out his third rushed mouthful from the bottle, he watched Steve’s face perform a full array of expressions before moving back to cold, his voice considerably more collected than Billy had anticipated, “What? Why’re you asking?”

“Just curious.” He replied, looking at Steve in his deep brown eyes as the tension increased. Steve didn’t move and Billy noticed that the man was stalling, avoiding answering the question. He pressed on, “So did you?”

“I dunno.” Came the emotionless reply as Steve turned back to the stove, tearing open the ground beef and emptying it into the pan.

Inspired, Billy quietly alighted from the chair and walked into the kitchen so he could better see Steve’s reactions. Propping himself up against the refrigerator, he narrowed his gaze on the man doing his best to ignore him. “You dunno?”

Steve jumped a little as he noticed Billy in his space and he gripped the counter, looking at the chopping board, still not looking in his direction, “What does it matter to you?”

Now committed to his investigation, Billy kept his tone firm, unrelenting. “Stop thinking about it and just answer the question. Did you like it?”

 

* * *

  
  
Pissed off with Billy’s scrutiny and being told what to do, Steve swallowed his instinctual explosive reaction, picking up the large knife again to begin cutting the peppers and mushrooms. He had to answer - there was no getting away from that, even so, Steve loathed the truth. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good.” He heard Billy say and peered over his shoulder to see the man’s smug smile which only infuriated him more.

“What d’you mean, good?” Steve asked incredulously, hand poised with the knife hovering over the board. Billy didn’t reply immediately, seemingly enjoying making Steve fluster as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket moving to light. Without saying a word, Steve put the knife down and snatched the cigarette from Billy’s fingers, pointing to the kitchen window by the sink, waiting for Billy to get the message before handing it back.

Billy raised his eyebrow as he walked smoothly behind Steve to sit on the side of the sink, leaning back to the window as he lit his smoke. “I mean, it would be a pretty big fucking buzzkill if you didn’t like it, wouldn’t it?” he said as the smoke curled from his nose.

“I suppose.” Steve replied, struggling to not watch Billy as he reclined in front of him.

Having noticed Steve’s gaze, Billy placed his smoke in the DIY Pepsi can ashtray and slid off the side, making a point of watching Steve as he worked. He felt himself tense and grow cold as he registered what the man was doing, becoming increasingly more alert. Breathe Steve, breathe. He isn’t going to do anything, focus on what’s in front of you, you’re the one with the knife right now.

“What did you like about it?” Billy asked, his voice almost husky and Steve gripped the knife handle tight.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know, eh?” Billy said with a wry smile, walking behind Steve now, “Was it the kiss?” he asked, leaning in close with his chest pressed against Steve’s back as he whispered in his ear, “Or was it when you face fucked me ‘til I almost passed out?”

Desperate to ignore the build up in his own arousal and feeling cornered, Steve spun around, knife still in his hand as he gripped the sides. He opened his mouth to speak but Billy moved in to kiss his open mouth hard. Steve’s eyes shot open and he momentarily lost his grip on the counter. His body was burning now and he could feel his involuntary excitement grow beneath him but he rejected it. This was too much. The man tasted like cigarettes and alcohol, he smelt so fucking good and as much as he wanted to lean into the kiss, he was furious at the invasion.

 

* * *

  
  
Billy held Steve to him, his left arm placed on the counter so the queen was pinned. He could feel the man’s struggle and it spurred him on, his right hand cupping the back of Steve’s head as he did that time before. Gradually, he noticed his captive melt into the kiss, body pressing into Billy’s of its own volition.

Then he felt the man tense and before Billy could move his other hand to keep him held down, he was smacked away sharply as Steve ducked away from the kiss. Lips swollen and coloured from the contact, Steve stared at Billy breathless and livid. “This… This is _talking?!”_ The man spat, opening a sauce jar with his trembling hands and pouring the contents into the pan.

 _“You’re losing him, Billy, catch him. Pull that guard_ _down_ _!”_

Frustrated and feeling the pressure of his persecutor weighing down on his conscience, Billy folded his arms again. He felt his lips curl into a wicked grin and he felt shocked at himself, not knowing where his movements were coming from. “Drop the act” a foreign voice said, “You enjoyed what you did.”

Steve stared at Billy, stunned. “What I did?”

Billy was confused; things were happening he wasn’t in complete control of and yet, he loved it. He was on fire and he reached back for his cigarette as someone else took over his body, leaving him feeling powerful. Time to pull the lever and let the missile fly. “I felt it - I saw it in your eyes.”

Steve was frozen to the spot, well and truly trapped now. “What makes you say that? I’m not a fucking monster, why would I enjoy hurting you?”

“For the same reason I enjoy you hurting me.” He replied and bold as brass, he lifted the lid off of the pan and breathed in deep, “Smells good.”

He watched as Steve stood back, his eyes darting to the side. The man was starting to get overwhelmed, this was good. All Billy had to do now was keep pushing.

“Get your damn hands off!” Steve snapped, slamming the lid back down before he resumed slicing the last of the mushrooms.

_“We’re almost there now, his walls are crumbling. Don’t stop, he’s a moment away from complete collapse.”_

Leaning in behind Steve again, Billy applied his most devious tone, “Or what?”

 

* * *

  
  
That was it. He couldn’t fucking handle any more. Without thinking, Steve swung his arm around and held the broad knife to Billy’s throat. Chest heaving, he rotated his body till he was eye to eye with his intruder and pushed the blade upwards just under Billy’s jaw, raising it until the man swallowed.

“Tell me…” Billy managed, still arrogant, “Are you enjoying this right now?”

Steve was incensed. He didn’t want the words to be true but the semi he was struggling to conceal risked giving him away. Face red and snarling, he lifted the blade higher, twisting it so the sharp point bit into the skin. Looking Billy square in the eye, he matched the man’s menace, “Fuck. Off.”

“What if I don’t?” Billy said, pushing his neck against the blade until it pierced the flesh, his bright blue eyes glistening with the taunt.

Ripping the knife away fast and slamming it on the counter, Steve hit him hard across the face. Billy staggered but regained his balance quickly, looking up at Steve as he held his smarting cheek. “Step the fuck down.” Steve warned, voice cold as ice now.

Smiling wildly now, Billy rounded back to Steve, muscles flexed as he did. “No.” He retorted, defiantly.

Something malevolent began to steady his shaking hands as Steve picked up on the others desperation. This guy was trying anything to rile him up, and that gave Steve _power._ Anxiety dissipating, he felt himself grow in confidence. He wanted to destroy that arrogance. If he couldn’t make the man leave, Steve could at least make him feel like shit for being there. He looked at Billy, unimpressed and shrugged, sweeping the crap off the sides onto his hands and throwing it in the trash.

 

* * *

  
  
_“He’s ignoring you! The fucker’s ignoring you! NO! Make him pay attention!”_

Confused and insulted by Steve’s cold shoulder, Billy abandoned the last of his concern. “And the mask goes up again.” He said, bitterly.

Steve continued to pay him no attention, drinking from the bottle again as he turned the hobs down.

“You’re an amazing actor Steve.” He continued, finishing his glass, “But your body doesn't lie.”. Cruelly, he gestured to the man’s pants and prepared to lay down his final snare - guilt was his ally now. “Sure, you can convince yourself all you want that you’re this wholesome, well meaning character, but it was _you_ who forced me to my knees.” Billy watched as Steve froze again and smiled cruelly as he found his mark, “And it was _you_ who forced me to cum in public.”

Slamming the empty bottle onto the kitchen surface, Steve bent over the counter, “What’s your game here? You trying to get me to do it _again?”_ he asked, still not looking at Billy as his hair hung over his face.

“What if I am?” Billy replied, closing in on Steve. This was it.

 

* * *

  
  
Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing and his chest was being torn apart by guilt. He wanted to make Billy suffer, wanted to see him scream and beg until he would stay the fuck away, but at the same time memories of Sharon were being pulled up from the depths of his subconscious. Was this how she felt? Did he push her into it too? He could see in his mind’s eye the bitches red lips as she smiled down at him and Steve closed his eyes tight.

“Let go - I dare you.” Billy whispered, lowering himself to Steve’s level.

Fuck it.

What was the fucking point in trying to do the right thing? Fuck all of this. Turning on a pivot, Steve straightened swiftly and seized Billy’s shirt, pulling the man to him. He took it all in; his shallow breathing, sweat and stunned expression, and kissed him coldly, biting his lips as he did.

 

* * *

  
  
Relief crashed into his surprise, and Billy returned the force, a hand grasping Steve’s ass firmly. Billy could feel him hard as he pushed against him and he was captivated.

A strong hand drove him back, stopping him in his tracks. Gasping and enraged, Billy stared at Steve. “What the _fuck?”_ he seethed in disbelief as the man blanked him. What was this? NO! Trying to wrap his head around what was going on, he watched Steve select seasonings from the shelves, decanting them carefully into the dish.

Billy’s was painfully hard now, his hands balling into fists to try and bury down the fury at his rejection. “You-”

“What?” Steve snapped back, harshly.

“What are you-”

“Shut up.” Steve interrupted again, tasting the food before continuing, still paying Billy no attention. “If you’re that fucking desperate, sort yourself out.”

Billy flinched, unsure what he was being asked to do. “Huh?”

“You deaf?”

Face twisted with confusion, Billy tried to get Steve to look at him and explain his command. “I don't understand.”

“Sure you do.” Steve said mockingly, looking over his shoulder at Billy with disdain, “If you want it that bad, then jack off. Over there, where I can see you.”

Billy froze as panic shot through his system. What the fuck did he mean?

_“You know what he means.”_

I can’t do this, I can’t, Billy thought to himself but before he could process anything else, Steve had clasped his hand around Billy’s wrist, twisting his body around forcefully until he was bent over the sink. Steve held him down as Billy bucked beneath him and moved a knee to spread his legs.

“Go on then, do it.” He sneered, restraining Billy by pressing his body against the surface “Because it’s the _only_ way you’ll get anything outta me.”

 _“What’re you waiting for? This is what you’ve been wanting this entire fucking time, quit being a pussy and do it, you know you want to.”_ His demon said, trying to pull Billy’s arm from his side and into his pants. Billy didn’t move. He was still in shock, too embarrassed to speak. _“Do it!”_

 

* * *

  
  
“What was it you said?” Steve asked authoritatively, pressing his hips right against Billy’s, “Oh yes - ‘Let go, I dare you.’”

He knew he was hard now but he has stopped giving a damn. If this guy wanted Steve to hurt him then he was going to get exactly what he wanted, but he would leave the ball in Billy’s court the entire time. Hargrove would have to be the one to cave - his choice. Steve looked over Billy’s shoulders and noticed the man’s hand reluctantly move from the counter before gripping it again.

“Here, let me help.” He said, reaching under Billy to undo his jeans, inhaling sharply as he felt him in his hands again. Resisting the urge to take the guy to climax again, he pulled his hand away and wrapped it around Billy’s wrist again, guiding it forcefully to his erection.

 

* * *

  
  
His cheeks were burning now as humiliated, Billy felt Steve force his hand onto him. He was spacing out again but it was different this time, bordering on a physical euphoria he couldn’t get his head around. Closing his eyes tight and gritting his teeth, Billy tried to make himself disappear but the arousal was too great, so he clutched his cock firmly and did as Steve had ordered. The relief hit almost immediately, the pair locked in position as Billy jacked off bent over Steve’s sink. He felt ashamed, guilty almost, gasping as the pleasure escalated. He could still feel Steve’s own erection pressed against him and it made his body shudder, wanting nothing more than for the man to fuck him.

Then he felt him pull away, his ass cold now Steve was no longer resting against it. Billy turned his head to the side and watched as the guy carried on cooking, as if nothing was going on. His eyes stung and he felt suddenly very small - like a desperate animal rather than a person. Billy had never encountered this particular game before. It hurt and that made him mad.

Unable to hold back his frustration, Billy let go of himself so he could turn around, but before he could, Steve spoke.

“Don’t fucking move.”

Billy froze again, confused at his own obedience and held his head down, looking back from under his long, wavy hair. He watched as Steve slung a dish towel over his shoulder, grabbed the pan and walked over to the sink. Billy flinched, staring at the man in alarm as he began to drain the boiling water, the whole time ensuring he was close enough to Billy for the steam to sting his face but not enough to burn him. Gasping loudly, Billy tried urgently to pull away, his vision clouded, temporarily unable to breathe.

“I said, _stay!”_ Steve scolded, taking his time before placing the pan on the side. Disoriented and beside himself with rage, Billy lunged behind him with an extended elbow, twisting his whole body around as he did, but Steve was ready.

 

* * *

  
  
Using his hips to drive Billy back into the counter, Steve whipped the dish towel from his shoulders and wrapped it around the guys neck, a hand knotted either side of it as he dug his knee into Billy’s back, forcing him into place as he pulled back hard. He took his time to listen to Billy choke and yell out as his hard on was pressed agonisingly into side.

“I thought…” Steve began, grunting with the effort it took to hold his position, “you wanted this… All that _fucking_ effort to get me pissed… Well here you go shithead, I’m fucking pissed.”

Steve felt a voice inside of him scream at what he was doing but he quickly buried it down, furious he had been pushed to this point where he didn’t recognise himself anymore. Why the fuck did Billy have to push? Why the hell did this feel so fucking good?

He watched as the man struggled to breathe and lost himself to the sight. “It was a simple enough command, Billy. I made it really fucking easy, but did you listen? No, you did not.” Billy was starting to weaken now but Steve did not let go.

He waited until Hargrove’s knees started to buckle before releasing him, letting the man fall forward, coughing and clutching the sink for dear life. “Don’t quit on me now, we’ve only just started.” Steve said ominously as he watched Billy’s strong back flex beneath him. He was still gasping for air, looking around bewildered, and Steve felt himself moved by Billy’s ability to stay standing. It pulled him to the man more than anything else. Even in the midst of his anger, Steve adored how beautifully Billy responded to the cruelty.

Biting back a groan of his own, Steve returned to his role, speaking in a low and steady voice, “Carry on.”

 

* * *

  
  
Oxygen starved and fired up to the point of delirium, Billy trembled, the world around him shaking. He did his best to hold his head up but he was flying now. This was… incredible. So immersed in his high was Billy, that he could hardly hear his subjugator, nor did he notice the towel slip back around his neck.

“I said,” Steve began, pulling hard on the cloth, forcing Billy upright again, “Keep going! You’ve got my attention now, I’m not going anywhere until you are completely spent.”

Drunk on his perversion, Billy did as he was told, desperately clutching his aching cock and moving his hand fast, the corners of his vision blurring as he worked himself eagerly.

 

* * *

  
  
Steve had begun counting in his head, watching Billy’s body like a hawk for signs he was going too far. To his amazement, the man obeyed, his lips curled into a twisted smile as he tried to make himself cum. The sight made Steve’s dick twitch in his pants and he instinctively pressed himself against Billy’s ass, waiting for him to falter again before releasing.

“Don’t…” Billy choked, catching Steve by surprise.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t stop! Fuck, don’t stop.”

The words sent a wave of arousal straight through him and Steve grinned wickedly, biting his lip as he wrapped the towel firmly around his wrist and thumb. “Oh, I won’t.” He whispered, before pulling downwards this time, forcing Billy’s entire body to arch and strain. The man continued his self pleasure feverishly, face reddening fast as his eyes watered. Steve was spellbound; everything about Hargrove in this moment was perfect and he noticed in himself the need to take him to edge - to watch him climax as he struggled for air.

 

* * *

  
  
Billy could feel his orgasm building and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold off for much longer. His ears were ringing and his fingers were starting to go numb, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Sinking deeper into his debasement, Billy pressed himself against Steve’s erection and rolled his eyes back as he felt Steve push back in reply. He could die this way and he couldn't care less.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve released Billy, allowing him to buckle over again to breathe for the last time. His hard on was throbbing now but he paid it no heed - it was irrelevant. Steve could get all he needed from watching Billy break.

The man’s body was almost spasming now, his muscular form trembling as he panted and spat into the sink. Steve couldn’t prolong the inevitable any longer, so he bowed over him, his face aligned with Billy’s as he spoke, starting to become breathless himself now, “Final round, Hargrove. I won’t let go until you’re done, got it?”

Breathless and unable to focus on anything, Billy nodded, his body tensing in preparation as Steve pulled back with all his weight causing him to choke, the veins standing out against his forearms with the effort.

 

* * *

  
  
Head burning with tears streaming down his discoloured cheeks, Billy chased his release with a hand he could hardly feel anymore. The entire universe has seemed to melt away and all that remained was the pair of them, trapped together in the frantic rush to escape themselves.

“I’d hurry up if I were you, I can feel you weakening.” He heard Steve say, his voice crisp and cutting through the static in his ears. The man pulled back harder and Billy closed his eyes tightly, teeth exposed as the pain increased, mixing perfectly with his shame. His body shuddered and he picked up speed, face almost purple, his other hand gripping the material digging into his neck.

“Do it. Cum for me Hargrove - Show me just how much you wanted this.”

And he did, powerfully, almost pulling Steve over with the force of it.

 

* * *

  
  
Steve released Billy immediately, stepping back and crouching low to catch him as he fell. Billy dropped like a stone and Steve gripped his shoulders tight, lowering him onto the kitchen tiles slowly. He looked down at the man bordering on unconscious in a confused mix of concern and admiration, shaking his head to try and focus. Billy came to with a loud grunt and his body spasmed as the oxygen rushed back to his brain. Nostrils flaring as gasped for air, Steve watched with fascination as the corners of Billy’s mouth moving into a rapturous smile. His eyes were wide, completely bloodshot but shining a radiant sky blue.

Easing himself onto the floor, Steve adjusted his position so the man could lay on his lap, his head resting just below Steve’s still prominent erection. Transfixed, he moved only to stroke a curl of blonde hair away from Billy’s glistening forehead. Steve sat there, unable to look away from the shaking wreck of Billy Hargrove. He had never seen a reaction like this in all his life and whilst it thrilled him, Steve felt bizarrely protective over the guy who now looked very vulnerable, despite his size. He did nothing but hold Billy’s head cautiously and wait for him to regain functionality.

“I told you… You liked it…” Billy coughed hoarsely, making Steve almost shoot out of his skin. He blushed and smiled awkwardly, scratching his head as he avoided Billy’s warm yet cocky gaze.

“Heh… You may be right.” Steve replied, bashfully.

“Is… something burning again?”

SHIT! Steve was thrown out of the warm trance he was under as reality kicked him in the gut. “Jesus Christ! Fucking hell!” He swore as he rushed to his feet, turning the hob off and running his hands through his hair in despair. “Not again, for the love of god, can I not do _anything right today?!”_

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know about that, Steve. I would say you’ve done plenty right.” Billy said as he staggered to his feet behind Steve, almost falling when the man extended a hand for him to grab onto. Nodding gratefully, he held himself upright on the counter, rubbing his head as the world around him spun. He noticed Steve gesture to his pants and Billy winced, tucking his now deflated cock away.

He watched as Steve stared at the pans for a moment before slinging the entire thing into the sink with a crash and storming to the window to grab a cigarette from the ashtray. Billy wished he knew what to say, but his head was pounding and he still felt dizzy. Out of nowhere, he started to feel guilty for ruining Steve’s evening and invading his space, so Billy did the only thing he knew, taking his jacket from the chair and slipping it on.

“You off now?” He heard Steve ask, puzzled.

Billy looked away, shame preventing him from meeting Steve’s eyes as he pulled a smoke from his own pocket. “Yeah, I guess. Unless you want me to stay?” He asked, masking his genuine hope with disinterest.

For a moment, he swore Steve looked pained and Billy waited, just in case the man changed his mind but his heart sank as he heard the reply, “No, it’s fine. Besides, I have to rescue all this… shite.”

Confused as to why he felt so disappointed, Billy shook away the sadness and tied his hair back. “Cool.” He said, slipping the cigarette into his mouth, taking one last look at Steve who was silently smoking out of his window on the other side of the room. “See you around maybe?” Billy tried for the last time.

“Sure, see you around.” Steve murmured, voice breaking a bit as he didn’t look around, his profile outlined by the moonlight.

Billy opened his mouth to speak but said nothing, turning to leave and closing the door gently behind him. He exhaled loudly as he heard the latch click and leaned back on the wall of Steve’s house, staring up at the clear, star studded sky, chest welling with emotion. What did you do? He asked himself quietly, lighting his cigarette and watching a satellite make it’s slow journey across the horizon.

A loud crash jolted him out of his self-reflection and Billy pressed his ear to Steve’s door, listening as the man swore and threw stuff around his kitchen. He smiled weakly, wondering for a second if Steve had wanted him to stay after all, but he abandoned the idea, not knowing why anyone would want to keep him around. Sighing into the nighttime breeze, Billy walked down the driveway with shaky legs, leaving the vanquished citadel behind him to burn in his shadow.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well fuck me. 
> 
> This has been a *marathon* chapter to write. It is 1:28am and I have finally got the full thing up. If you've made it to the end, how the hell are you holding up? It's been an emotional roller-coaster for me to write, I mean, good grief. I am very tired so I will do the short version here now and do the rest tomorrow but i would like to clarify that neither Billy or Steve are innocent in this. Both have fucked up big time here, and over the next few chapters we are gonna start to see the effects of this on their psyche's and interpersonal relationships as the Upside Down draws closer. 
> 
> This is warming up to one of the big topics I intend to explore: Self harm by proxy - whereby someone exploits/pushes another into hurting them for self destructive reasons. It's a complex matter but unfortunately, is often mistaken for healthy BDSM. It only works if the other is aware of the significance behind it, is willing to be a part of it and has your best interests at heart. These guys are no where near there yet, but Steve is gonna start putting the pieces together as he notices Billy's primary need from him is to get hurt. 
> 
> It's been a bit of a "Spot the abusive/manipulative power tool" game, but I have reasons for this. Don't worry, this isn't going to be the theme for all of their sexual encounters, just in the early stages where they are both still... pricks. I feel sorry for both of them in this, mainly because both are trying to do the right thing - Billy trying his hardest to stick to George's advice but both of their demons are strong. Billy's demon just happens to have a complete mind of it's own and the ability to take over. 
> 
> Next week will be the build up for the Upside down. It's gonna be another long chapter but shit is about to *hit the cosmic fan*, and from there, it won't slow down until one of the men is a broken mess. Hello to all my new readers, you all ROCK! 
> 
> For now, I am going to go sit in a skip somewhere with a spliff, and feel guilty as sin for all the scenarios i have had to conceive to create this one. I hope you like it none-the-less.
> 
> Kit


	13. Scapegoat/The Plight of Bethany Brown.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dustin begins to panic waiting for Steve to call, on the other side of town a very different kind of drama is beginning. Whilst Dustin's mom tries to beg her son for the phone, George Brown attempts to coax his wife to eat and in doing so, he notices there is something very wrong with Bethany Brown. Unable to fight his paranoia anymore, Dustin Henderson storms out of his moms house and powers on to Steve's, who is still coming to terms with what he did to Hargrove Saturday Night. As Harrington seeks healing and reassurance from a tub of icecream, Mr Brown contacts Hawkins General Hospital, desperately seeking help for his wife whereupon he is referred to the Complex Cases team, lead by Dr Simmons. Dustin's arrival at Steve's is met coldly, and as Steve confesses how he hurt Billy the night before, Dustin turns to weed again, trying anything to block out his guilt.  
> As Monday arrives, Billy wakes up to a hangover from hell and his demented 'imaginary friend'. Battling his dissociation, he is surprised by Steve who turns up at his door to suggest a reconciliation, and as the day reaches a close on this double chapter, further bad news regarding Mrs Brown changes Billy and Steve's plans, forcing them to the hospital.

The window frames rattled as early Fall tore its way through Hawkins. Looking at the condensation on the window in his chunky-knit, tan sweater, Mr Brown watched as his sturdy family tree bent and swayed with the wind. He was exhausted and in the midst of his warm, comfortable home, George hid in the kitchen from an intruder who sat in his wife's armchair, wearing her clothes and muttering with her voice. Their little sanctuary had been breached and he could do nothing but try his best to coax his maiden back.

Autumn was usually The Brown’s most welcomed season; Beth had already decorated the house with red and gold leaf garlands, put tasteful pumpkins and gourds on the fireplace and dinner table, and yet their home felt cold. Reluctantly, George pulled himself away from the window, considered looking behind him at his wife but thought better of it, turning his bearded face back to the meal he was preparing. Macaroni Cheese. It wasn’t glamorous but neither was George, who had somehow reached his late fifties without really learning how to cook. Before Beth arrived in that beat up Mini of hers at his university all those years ago, Mr Brown had survived quite well on take-out, and whilst he’d never intended for her to become the chef of the house, she did so with such enthusiasm.

He stared at the dish until his eyes watered and he wiped them hurriedly, serving up quickly onto a green plate before examining it again. Something was missing, so he reached over to from side to the wilting herbs on the window ledge and plucked a sprig of parsley that looked somewhat like a heart, placing it delicately at the centre. George knew the dish was bland but it was his hope that the familiar flavours would stimulate a smile from his lady who was shaking in the armchair by the fire.

Breathing in deep, George walked quietly into the living room and slowly lowered himself so he could see Beth clearly. The woman was covered in a film of sweat, her left hand picking at the skin on her arm as she stared into the fireplace. It broke his heart seeing Mrs Brown like this, she was usually so full of energy and life but now, it was like he was watching her decay from the inside; her outer shell still intact but unable to hide the hell that was playing out in her mind. He waited for a moment to see if she would look at him and as the seconds passed, George gave in.

“Hey… Sweetheart, how’re you holding up?” His voice wavered but he tried to inject as much kindness into the words as possible. His wife said nothing, gaze unbroken. George tentatively lowered the bowl onto the table before returning to her, “I know you don’t want to talk… and you don’t have to. I won’t make you, but please… you have to eat something, love.”.

Stomach in knots, George watched as Beth began to rock in the chair and taking this as a sign he could be reaching her, he persisted, “I don’t know what you saw at work, but you don’t have to keep it all locked away in that big heart of yours.”. Anxiously, he moved to rest his hand on Beth’s trembling leg to squeeze gently and pulled away fast. “Christ, Beth, you’re freezing!” George stammered, moving his hand to feel her forehead.

Faster than he thought possible, Beth swung her arm up, smacking his hand away without saying a word. Confused and hurt, George held his hand, still determined to help. “Can I get you a jumper? A blanket?” he asked, dutifully. Beth remained in position, rocking harder and picking at her arms again. At a loss, George reached behind him and grabbed the macaroni cheese, but before he could open his mouth, Mrs Brown hit it out of his grip, the green plate now lying broken at his feet.

“Go away.”

With watering eyes, George looked at his wife feeling sick to his stomach. There’s the voice again. Beth but not Beth. Unable to pull himself away from his soulmate, he looked into her tortured, bloodshot hazel eyes and saw tears building. The woman was terrified so instinctively, he reached out to hold her hand again, his grasp strong as she tried to pull away.

“Let go!”

“I can’t… I can’t… Something’s not right, what’s going on, love? You look scared-”

“Get _off me!”_ The woman screamed, doing her best to yank her hands away, but George held on.

“Please! Talk to me, Beth… Talk to me - I don’t know what to do.”

Tears were now streaming down Beth’s pallid cheeks, her face twitching as she strained to string a sentence together. “Help me - this isn't me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know… what’s-” She began before her expression neutralised, tone lowered again, “Go away.”

George recoiled, rubbing his eyes. He knew she was in there, but it was like she was being held hostage. He had to find her, had to pull her out of there. Moving so he was directly opposite her, George cupped his haired hands around Beth’s cheeks softly as he always used to do, “I love you, Beth, I love you with all my-”.

The palm of Beth’s hand connected sharply with George’s cheek, the impact of which made him fall back. Clutching his smarting face, he watched in despair as his wife stood and stepped over him.

“Beth, I-”

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Wait!” He called after her, reaching for her but she was already out of range.

“Leave me alone.” She said as she rounded the corner and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

George looked around him at his now very alien home; the broken plate on the floor, the cheese sauce soaking into the carpet and the wedding photo on the mantle. He looked around in misery, panicked for the woman he loves more than anyone else in the world, and walked over to the phone. He had no other option. Beth needed help and someone had to be able to give it.

 

* * *

 

 

Dustin was _hot_. Not normal level hot, but sweating profusely. Sitting in just a purple Pink Floyd vest top and cropped pants, Dustin ignored The Simpson’s blasting out of his TV and grabbed his old Dungeons and Dragons first edition from under the bed. He looked at the worn cover and sighed sadly before laying it on his lap and emptying half of a rather large bag of pot onto it. Curly hair tied back in a tiny ponytail so he could see clearly, Dustin began separating bud from the seeds and twigs.

Stressed didn’t quite cut it, Dustin was beyond that now. He’d been sitting by the damned phone for seven hours now waiting for Steve to call, but it was radio silence and he was growing uncomfortably paranoid. Dustin had never handled stress well but guilt was worse. Chewing the inside of his lip, he decanted a small amount of the weed into a cheeseburger grinder and set to work, twisting his wrists, like somehow grinding the pot down to within an inch of its life would rescue him from his conscience. It did not.

As soon as he had hung up the phone with Steve on Friday, Dustin had begun to question his decisions - all of them. He had been so sure he was doing the right thing; that somehow by getting Steve and Billy to make-up, it would heal both of their wounds, but now he wasn't so sure. Truth be told, he hadn’t thought of the consequences of giving Hargrove’s address to Steve. He’d never considered that there could be any negative repercussions from a well meant apology, but as events seemed to happen around him between the two, he wondered whether it was in fact a selfish move.

Dustin remembered very clearly the incident between Steve and Billy that day and the scene weighed on him heavily. He didn’t do anything to stop it, didn’t try hard enough to stop Billy attacking Steve and he certainly did nothing to prevent how Harrington ended the fight. All he did was stand there and watch, not saying a word until Steve was finished and the other man fled. He felt guilty for that, and even though he knew it wasn’t _him_ doing the unforgivable, he was on the guilty party’s side, doing nothing as his friend brought Hargrove down. Dustin needed Steve to apologise, not just for Harrington’s sake, but for his as well, and he wondered whether this clouded his judgement.

Tipping the finely ground herb into a small plastic container, Dustin began sifting through the rest on his childhood book, chugging from a water bottle and wiping the sweat from his forehead. Surely, the principle and intention outweighed the means… Steve had done the right thing; he had taken his stupid ass to Billy’s and apologised… And yet, Dustin was still unconvinced how much of a difference this really made. If anything, Billy seemed to be getting more unstable. Maybe that was how he’d always been though - maybe he’d always been fucked up and Dustin was only noticing now he had actually interacted with the guy. He couldn’t be sure, but he’d _never_ thought for a moment that Steve would’ve been genuinely interested in Billy.

He had his suspicions regarding Steve’s curiosity surrounding Hargrove, but he didn’t really pay it much attention. It was just Steve being a bit odd, jealous and neurotic for all he knew, however after the past month, it was definitely becoming clear that his best friend had the hots for the person Dustin swore he loathed. What was even _more_ disconcerting was how hooked Billy seemed to be on Steve, and that was after the man assaulted him. When did people become so fucking complicated? He thought to himself as he repeated his aggressive grinding.

Staring at the silent phone, Dustin considered calling Steve again. He had tried every hour since 10am Sunday morning but his friend hadn’t picked up once which worried him. What if Billy had lied? What if the fucking bastard had tricked Dustin into giving him Steve’s address and he was going for retribution? Oh shit, what have I done? He groaned inwardly, his lip bleeding now from his gnawing. No - Steve could hold his ground; he was Steve Harrington, he could survive anything. Wait, survive? What was he surviving?

Dustin exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself down. He shouldn’t have done it, he should’ve kept his stupid nose to himself… Even so, it was give Billy the address or get fired, and Dustin couldn’t lose his job. Not if he wanted any hope of leaving his Mom’s fucking sweatbox. Dustin emptied the grinder again into the tub and froze for a moment as he heard footsteps in the hallway, hurriedly sweeping the rest back into the bag and blowing the dust off of the game manual.

“Dustin? Pumpkin, are you finished with the telephone?”

“No.” Dustin replied firmly, a hand placed on the phone possessively.

“Are you sure? I need to call the vet - Cookie has these big patches of fur falling off of him, it’s very strange, I think if I call the veterinarian then-”

“Mom…” He began, eyes rolling to the back of his head in exasperation, “He’s probably just molting. You have the heating on full blast, hell, I’m probably molting.”

“I know, I know, but it’s starting to get colder. Fall is on its merry way - the leaves are changing, the trees are growing barren, September is here.” The woman sang, merrily.

“Yeah, but it’s hotter than Miami in here! I’m in a vest and I am still sweating.”

“I think it’s actually nice and cosy.”

“Cosy?” Dustin barked in disbelief, “This isn’t cosy; cosy is wearing sweaters and scarves mom, this is _torture!”_

“I’m wearing my purple cardigan, I’m absolutely fine.”

Groaning loudly, Dustin gripped his head, “Well then, there’s something seriously wrong with you because it’s like, two hundred degrees in here!”

“Don’t talk to me like that! It hurts my feelings.” She replied, offended.

“Mom… aaa. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He tried, head now between his legs.

“Why don’t you try opening a window? You can get a nice breeze in that way.”

Throwing his head back, Dustin collapsed onto his futon dramatically, his arm resting on his face, “But you put the heating on, why would I open the - Oh, never mind.” He trailed off, grumpily.

“There’s nothing wrong with having the heating on Dustin, that’s why I got the new boiler put in last year.”

“That’s not the point - Just turn it down.”

“But it’s just right in here, why would I do that?” His mom asked, confused.

“I give up.” Dustin declared, throwing his hands in the air and letting them fall back onto the bed with a thud.

There was a long pause and Dustin was beginning to think his mom had finally got the message and left, but he wasn’t that lucky, “So, can I have the telephone then?”.

Dustin said nothing, his reply limited to hitting his head over and over with the Dungeons and Dragons book next to him.

“Was that a yes? Can I come in” She asked, turning the handle.

“NO!” Dustin yelled, sitting up fast. “Piss off Mom! I’m waiting for Steve to call! You have a perfectly good mobile - use it!”

“I know, but I prefer the tele- Oh, Steve? He’s a nice man, how’s he doing?” She enquired and Dustin watched as the doorknob stopped moving.

“I don’t _know!_ That’s why I have the damn phone!”

“Oh dear.” The woman said, clearly concerned, “What’s happened? Is he okay? He can always come over here if-”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Dustin yelled again, rushing to his feet and grabbing his massive backpack, throwing crap in it indiscriminately, staring at the plastic tub of ground pot before throwing that in there too.

“If he’s in trouble, you should call the police Dustin.”

Guilt laden, Dustin looked under his bed and pulled out his snack box, chucking in two Capri Sun, a large bag of Lay’s potato chips and a packet of peanut M&M’s. “He’s not in trouble, I don’t think. Shit.” He said, growing increasingly paranoid the more he thought about Steve injured somewhere in that pristine living room. Zipping his bag up, he forced his high tops on, ignoring the laces, and barged out the door, coming face to face with his mom standing in the hallway.

The woman was wrapped up warm in many layers, her auburn hair in rollers as she stroked Cookie who stared at Dustin like he would rescue him. Dustin looked apologetically to the cat before rolling his eyes at his mom, slinging his bag over his shoulder and turning to the door. “Where are you going now, pumpkin?”

“Steve’s house.” He said, without looking back.

“That’s nice, you’re a good friend, Dustin. Steve’s lucky to have you.” She replied affectionately as she pulled clumps of white fur from Cookies back.

“Yeah right.” Dustin grumbled to himself, suddenly running through all the times he’d let his friend down.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, love. Does this mean I can use the telephone now? Only, Cookie really isn’t quite right at the-”

“Jesus _Christ_ Mom!” Dustin snapped, cutting the woman short before opening the front door and slamming it behind him aggressively.

From the drive, he heard his mom open a window to call after him. “Have fun! Give Steve my best!”, she cooed as Dustin held his hands over his ears, storming off around the corner.

 

* * *

 

 

Cold, green lights flashed and blinked angrily from the dashboard as Kevin Northwood lowered himself behind his office chair, sneakily opening his lunch and taking a bite from a squashed, peanut butter sandwich. It has been chaos in the call room for three days now, with phone lines ringing off the hook from the moment he arrived to the second he’d left. He’d almost forgotten what an actual lunch break felt like and the idea of leaving this desk-prison for a coffee was some hopeless dream. Kevin had been at work for four hours so far and he was pretty sure that his soul was already destroyed.

Watching the incoming call light in front of him flash, Kevin did the unthinkable and let it go to voicemail, looking over his shoulder for the men in grey suits that regularly hovered above him. They had arrived Wednesday the week before and Mr Northwood knew they were bad news because even his supervisor bowed his head when they spoke. There had been an induction Wednesday evening, one Kevin missed a date for, in which the team had been drilled in their new responsibilities. It was all a steaming pile of garbage as far as he was concerned, but he was trying to save up for a car so Kevin had reluctantly agreed to work alongside them.

Empowered by his disobedience, Kevin watched as another call went to voicemail. He knew these calls were important but recently he had given up caring for the poor folk on the other end of the receiver. All he wanted to do was eat something and force some caffeine into his system, nothing big and yet this was routinely denied by the blonde man in the grey suit lurking in the corner. Confident now, Kevin sat up cautiously and risked peeling his banana, but it was then he saw a shadow cast over his desk. Shit.

“Mr Northwood.”

“Uh, hi, yes, is there a problem Sir?” Kevin babbled anxiously, trying to hide his banana.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Umm…” He stammered, unsure of how to explain himself, “I was just having a moment to eat something, y’know, keep my energy going so I can focus better.”

The man looked unconvinced, his eyes narrowing on Kevin until he put the uneaten banana in his box, ashamed. “That’s better. You’ve ignored two calls now Mr Northwood, you are aware of the importance of your job, yes?”. Kevin nodded apologetically and the man continued, “There are lives on the line, every call is a potential life we can save. When you reject their calls, you could be handing them a death sentence and you don’t want that, do you?”

Kevin looked at his his cold coffee, guilt welling up inside him. “No, I don’t.”

“What’s more important, a patient's well being or your stomach? Consider this next time you decide to let one of those calls drop.”

He said nothing, his submission noted by the suited man who remained behind him as the phone rang again. “Answer it.”

Rubbing his face, Kevin did his best to adjust himself so he was back in work mode and pressed the unmute button on his headset, “Hello, you’ve reached the Hawkins General Hospital switchboard. Can I start by taking a name?”. He watched as the man behind him nodded, and waited for him to begin harassing some other poor bastard before breathing a sigh of relief.

“Hi, hello, sorry, uh, George - George William Brown.”

“Thank you, and a contact number we can call back on?” Kevin asked, typing as the man answered, trying his best to concentrate. “Thank you again, and your address?”. Kevin considered breaking off a bit of his banana to ease his stomach pains but thought better of it, deciding instead to ignore his needs and focus on the man on the other end of the phone. “Wonderful, Okay, is this call regarding yourself or someone else?”

“Someone else.”

“Can I take their name please?”

“Bethany Brown.”

“And their relation to you?”

“She’s my wife.”

Kevin winced hearing the man’s voice break and did his best to adjust his tone to be comforting. “Okay, and her age and date of birth?”

“56, 12th of November, 1940.”

“Thank you.” Kevin replied, fingers a blur across the clunky, grey keyboard. “Okay, My name is Kevin and I will be handling your call for today, how may I help you?”

“My wife… something’s not right, I think she is really sick and I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you mind providing a brief overview of her condition?”

“She’s feverish and sweating, very pale. She won’t eat or drink and won’t stop shaking.”

“Okay, when did you notice these symptoms?”

“Thursday last week, she came home from work and was not herself, it’s gotten progressively worse since then.”

“Can you explain how the condition worsened?”

“Sure, sorry, that night she complained of headaches and feeling nauseous, she seemed very low at the time, I presumed she was just stressed and tired, maybe a minor cold, so I put her to bed. The next morning, she started to sweat and the tremors began.”

“Was this Friday morning?”

“Yes, Friday.”

“You can continue, Mr Brown, I’m listening.”

“She started to get distant until eventually she stopped talking to me, which is not like her at all, she could talk for England - even when stressed. I tried encouraging her with food but she rejected it, when I tried touching her she would flinch from me and look at me like she didn’t know me. I watched her a lot, she would stare at mirrors for minutes on end, not moving, not saying anything before going to bed again.”

“Okay, I’ve taken that down, what about Saturday?”

“Beth… she began talking to herself. She would ‘zone out’ and freeze in places around the house, scratching at her arms. Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying for hours but I never saw her shed a tear. The only words she’d spoken were to herself and I…”

“It’s okay, take your time.”

“I just left her to go to work. I didn’t know what to do. When I came home she was in bed but this morning…”

“Go on.”

“She was different again.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know, she just was. She’s started to become aggressive, lashing out at me if I approached her, rocking back and forth, still scratching her skin. I heard her speak with a different voice that was still hers as she looked at me like I was an intruder.”

Kevin furrowed his brow, considering what the man was saying and reached for the pink post-it on his monitor, eyeing it closely. “Can you elaborate on the ‘voice’ please, Mr Brown?”

“Sure, uh, I don’t know how to describe it - it sounded emotionless and defensive, then angry if I came anywhere near her.”

Hands shaking as he held the post-it, Kevin pushed for clarification, “I appreciate this is distressing, Mr Brown, but are you certain that this wasn’t her? As in, could it just be that Bethany is just struggling?”

“I’m certain because I heard her speak after.”

“You heard her speak? Can you elaborate?”

“After… the other one snapped at me, she tried to.., My Beth tried to tell me to stay away, to help her, that it wasn’t her and she didn’t know what was going on.”

“Okay, I’m just going to put you on hold for a moment, is that alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll wait, sorry.”

Unsure what to do, Kevin stuck the little note onto the monitor again and spun around on his chair, waving his arm to signal the blonde, suited man over, muting the headset. “I think I have one - the type you’re looking for.” He said, nervously, watching as the man walked over, pulling out a phone from his pocket. “Should I-”

“You know the questions. We have to make sure we’re right on this, do you understand?” The man replied sternly as he dialled a number into his mobile, to which Kevin nodded.

“Hello, George? Sorry for the brief interruption, I’ve just consulted with a colleague and I have a few more questions to ask before we can determine the best course of action, is that okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Okay, right-” Kevin began, pulling in front of him a bullet point list on crisp, blue paper, “How long has it been since your wife ate anything?”

“Around three days.”

“Okay, has she drank anything during this time?”

“She’s had, I’d say, two glasses of water since Friday evening.”

Kevin was ticking the list as the man spoke and he felt within him a well of sympathy, “Thank you. Has she ever shown any signs of psychological disturbance before?”

“No, never.”

“Has she ever complained about hearing voices before?”

“No.”

“Can you describe the wounds she is making on herself?”

“Well, they’re kinda just… scratch marks. Some are bleeding, some scabbing over. She won’t stop with it, she just keeps peeling her skin.”

“Okay, has she grown weaker during this time?”

“No, the opposite, she seems stronger.”

Kevin shuddered as he heard a pair of heels click against the tiled floor, glancing behind him at the suited man who went to greet them. “Has she tried to hurt you? By that I mean, has she tried to bite you, hit you, kick you or cause you injury with a weapon.”

“Sort of, but it was defensive I think. She did hit me across the face.”

Turning away as he spotted the woman in the white coat walk over, Kevin tried to look only at the list in front of him, but he froze as he felt her warm, manicured hand rest on his shoulder, her fingers squeezing him firmly as she spoke, “Ask about her temperature.”

“Mr Brown, can you tell me whether she’s running a temperature?”

“No… Well she was at first, but right now she’s stone cold.”

The woman with the dark lipstick gestured to Kevin for his headset and obediently, he handed it to her without question, shrinking into his office chair.

“Hello, Mr Brown is it? I’m Dr Simmons from the Complex Cases team.”

“Uh, hello, yes, I’m Mr Brown.”

“Hi there, I’m here as a consult to establish how we can best help your wife. I appreciate you are concerned and have been answering many questions today, but I have a few more if you don’t mind?”

“Sure, fire away, I guess.”

“Thank you for your patience. How does your wife react to heat stimulus?”

“Heat stimulus?”

“Yes, how does she respond to heat, fire or any attempts to keep her warm?”

“She just stares at the fire, almost hypnotised by it, and she’s rejected every effort I’ve made to keep her warm aggressively, like somehow it’ll hurt her.”

Ms Simmons’s nails dug into Kevin’s shoulder as the man spoke, “Okay, has there been any discolouration of her irises?”

“Only minor.”

“Finally, can you tell me what Mrs Brown does for a living?” The woman remained poised waiting for George’s reply.

“She’s a senior nurse - Hawkins General.”

The doctor leaned back, snapping her fingers and nodding to the suited man who picked up his mobile again, dialing as he left the room with two others behind him. Kevin looked at her smile and tried to shrug her off of him, but the woman continued to grip his shoulder, looking down at him with a palm over the microphone as she said, “Good boy, she’s exactly what we’re looking for.”

“Okay, Mr Brown? What I need you to do now is keep Mrs Brown contained.”

“Why, what’s going on?”

“It is our belief that your wife is experiencing a psychological crisis and is in need of immediate psychiatric and medical assessment.”

“Really? Shit, sorry - I didn’t mean that, I  just… What about the fever? The illness?”

“It’s fairly common for patients with mental health difficulties to have physical manifestations of their internal struggle. She may also be fighting influensa alongside this, as you probably know, we have had a few outbreaks at the hospital, it is possible she’s picked up a minor bug during her time here.”

“I suppose you’re right, that makes sense. But why does she need to be contained, she’s harmless.”

“She may appear that way, but we see it a lot with sudden onset psychosis and the rapid development of other more complex disorders. The distress at the conditions acceleration can trigger violent outbursts against the people they love and at themselves.”

“I… I don’t… What do I do?”

“Keep her in the house, Mr Brown, keep her in the house. Do not under any circumstances let her leave. Remove all sharp objects she can get access to and try to keep her in sight at all times.”

“Is this… really necessary?”

“Sadly, it is. Patients experiencing a psychological breakdown can be unpredictable and dangerous. This isn’t to say that your wife is, let me be clear, we just have to prepare for the worst case scenario. This is for her well being, Mr Brown. She may be fine in a few days, however it is important that we ensure she is safe until one of our units arrive.”

“A unit?”

“Yes. For her evaluation and continued safeguarding, we will need to take her to the psychiatric wing for a multi practice assessment, where she will be reviewed by a psychologist and a doctor.”

“Bloody hell, I… how long will it take for them to get here? The unit that is?”

“I anticipate within the hour. We will have someone preparing a bed for her in the meantime.”

“A bed?”

“Yes, for her comfort, Mr Brown.”

“Christ almighty, Okay, thank you… I really appreciate the efforts you are making for her. I can’t believe how supportive you’ve been.”

Kevin cringed as he watched the woman’s full lips curl into a wry smile before she spoke, her tone matching empathy perfectly, “That’s no problem, Mr Brown, it’s what I’m here for; this is what Complex Cases are here for - for patients like your wife who need a team of professionals around her to support her recovery. We will do everything we can so that she gets the best care, and so she can return to you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, I mean it. One hour yes?”

“Yes, give or take. One last thing for me, Mr Brown - You will need to give your consent for her to enter inpatient care. At this point in time we are unable to determine if a sectioning order is appropriate, as a result we cannot detain her for the assessment and her safety. She could refuse to come with us and there would be nothing we could do to stop her. This way, she retains her rights and she can be monitored through her recovery.”

“Sectioning? But she’s not that bad, surely?”

“She may not be now, but we can never know how people struggling with psychiatric disturbances will react to an assessment. It’s better this way, I promise you. The decision is ultimately yours, but we want to _avoid_ sectioning Bethany Brown.”

“And you’re certain this will help? Being an inpatient, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t tell you if I wasn’t sure, Mr Brown. You have my word, I will oversee her care personally.”

“Sorry, yes, Okay.”

“If her condition worsens, call us immediately. Kevin here will be on the line all afternoon, so you have continuity.” Kevin looked away from the woman sadly and tensed as she moved her hand from his shoulder slowly to his upper thigh, stroking it possessively. “For now, you need to be strong for Bethany. Everything you choose to do is in her best interests. Remember, no sharps objects, keep her in your sight and keep her indoors. By any means.”

“Thank you again, I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“Thank you for your call, hang in there Mr Brown, we will be with you shortly.” And with that, Ms Simmons hung up, removing the headset and placing it on the desk.

Lowering herself so she was aligned with Kevin, the woman rubbed the inside of the man’s thighs out of sight to the others still on the phone. He felt desperately uncomfortable but he couldn’t say anything. He just continued to look at the screen as she spoke, “You did well today, do you know that? Thanks to your… attentiveness, Mrs Brown is going to get the treatment she needs.”

Kevin peered down to watch the woman’s hands move further up his thigh and blushed, wanting nothing more than to cross his legs as he grew stimulated. “What… what is it you’ve been looking for exactly? What’s wrong with Mrs Brown?” He asked, hoping the question would halt the woman’s exploration.

“That doesn’t concern you, Mr Northwood. There’s a hierarchy here, you see?” She said, her hand tracing along the seam of his jeans all the way up to the crotch, “There’s the bosses - the one’s I haven’t even met yet, then there is myself, the dead eyed men in suits that keep you behaving… Security, military, scientists, press, janitors and clean up teams… And then there is you. Right at the bottom of the pile.” Ms Simmons smirked, cupping Kevin’s semi until he gripped the table. “Oh, hush. I’m not doing anything here, just a…” She applied pressure to the man’s involuntary erection, “friendly greeting between a doctor and… hospital staff…” She leaned right into his ear, her white coat blocking the view of others as she concluded, “This - this is nothing. Just the same as whatever it is you suspect is happening with Mrs Brown. Put it out of your mind and continue as normal, and consider yourself lucky it was me you spoke to today. Now take five minutes and eat something, look at you - you’re shaking.”

Ms Simmons stood, smiling as she inspected her nails before turning to leave. Voice wavering, Kevin spun in his chair to grip her wrist, “Will she be okay? Mrs Brown?”. The woman looked at him, her expression altering instantly to one of disdain as she pulled her wrist away, wiping her hand on the white coat.

“This is a hospital, Mr Northwood. Nobodies okay.” She said coldly, before walking out of the room, leaving Kevin sitting in his chair, covering his erection. He waited for a moment, disoriented and ashamed as he stared at his lunch. Somehow, the entire box seemed to have become rotten in his eyes. Numb now, Kevin picked up one of the sandwiches and turned it over in his hand before gagging. Despite his hunger, he couldn’t bring himself to eat, so miserably, Kevin slung the entire contents of his box into the bin, rejecting his break and slipping the headset back on.

 

* * *

 

 

Sprawled on the sofa in his comfiest striped sweater, Steve tore open the lid of a family sized tub of rocky road ice cream and brandished a spoon, ready to wage war on the frozen goods. This afternoon's movie of choice: Alien 2, purposefully chosen because nothing cheered Steve up more than watching a load of shredded men being ripped apart by monsters. He felt pathetic so he’d decided that he may as well give into his inner sloth and allow himself to feel defeated for a bit.

Billy fucking Hargrove. It had become clear to him that there was no way in hell he could escape the guy, but what Steve felt most uncomfortable with was how he didn’t want to escape him. He could think of a million reasons why their continued interaction was just the worst idea ever, yet this did nothing to eliminate his confused feelings towards him. Stabbing the solid ice cream impatiently with his spoon, Steve pretended it was Billy. Fuck that guy. His life had been a bit of a disaster before his return to Hawkins, there was no doubt about that, but now Steve was convinced that it was only going to get worse.

So far, since the fight at the bowling alley, Steve had embarrassed himself in front of his staff by losing his cool, made himself look weak to Jenny Somersham of all people, was stabbed, sexually assaulted a guy, almost killed himself and his cat, had his first blowjob from a guy, encountered sadomasochism for the first time and now… He’d almost killed a man because it was fucking hot watching him jack off in tears. Yes, Billy Hargrove was bad news for him, but what was more worrying was how much of a monster Steve himself had turned out to be.

No matter how many angles he tried to view it in, it was still Steve that did the switch into evil bastard territory. He’d never seen himself in this light before and he wondered whether it could’ve all been prevented had he just let Billy walk over him that day in July. The problem was, Steve had been walked over enough in his life and he was in no way going to let it happen again.

Finally managing to get some of the ice cream onto his spoon, he sucked it clean and savoured it, all the while looking at the telephone that for the first time that day, was silent. Steve knew it was Dustin calling him; no one else was ever _this_ determined to reach him, but Steve didn’t want to talk to Dustin right now. He was still pissed at the kid and so, he wanted him to panic. It was pure luck that Billy’s visit hadn’t ended catastrophically and Steve wanted that to sink in for Dustin, who had still not realised that some things were best left alone. Even so, Steve was disconcerted by the stillness from the phone, feeling temporarily offended as he considered that maybe Dustin had given up.

A small yowling drew his attention to Fudge who was poking her little pink tongue into the ice cream. “Gross.” He groaned, but he didn’t stop the cat, instead reaching to stroke her chin. Steve did his best to focus on his feline companion but from the darkest corner of his mind, the sheer euphoric rush he had from seeing Billy the way he’d left him on Saturday was drawing up some painful associations. The more the man pushed Steve’s darkness to the foreground, the closer memories of Sharon became and now, the nightmares had returned. This time, with one difference; he was standing alongside her as they both looked down at him, watching Steve’s body as he slept whilst the pair relayed creative cruelties for him to wake up to. He recalled the dream he’d had Saturday night after Billy had left and shame forced more ice cream into his mouth as he remembered how it played out. Billy had been bent over in the same way he was on Saturday evening, whilst the two stood behind him but here, it was Steve who pushed the woman out of the way, insisting he knew how to make the man cry - that her services were no longer needed, and boy, did Hargrove scream.

Steve swore to himself and wondered, randomly, whether cutting his hands off would prevent him from ever repeating what he’d done to Billy in his dreams, but he was interrupted as the doorbell rang. “About fucking time.” He groaned, rolling off the sofa and dumping the ice cream on the table as he trudged to the door.

“What?” Steve asked, poking his head out and raising an eyebrow at the kid who was shivering in a vest top and shorts.

“Whaddya mean, what?” Dustin retorted, annoyed, to which Steve replied with a level and unimpressed glare. “Dude, can I come in? I’m freezing my balls off out here.” he asked, rubbing his arms as Steve watched him shake in the autumn wind. “Seriously? What the fuck, man, let me in!”

Rolling his eyes, Steve moved out of the way so Dustin could barge past him, “You look like an idiot.” He said harshly as the guy sped into the house and grabbed one of Steve’s throws, wrapping it around himself. “Where’s your jacket? And why the shorts?” he asked, shutting the door behind him and making his way back to the sofa.

“I forgot it, left it at moms. Stupid cow has the heating on full blast, I was in a rush and just plain forgot that there was a temperature below boiling.”

Steve watched as Dustin settled himself into the armchair, tucking his knees to his chest so he could get as much of himself under the blanket as possible. “I see.” He replied and resumed his attack on the ice cream tub, turning to the TV so Dustin knew he was in the doghouse.

“She sends her love by the way, my mom that is.” Dustin tried but Steve said nothing, pretending to engrossed in the film, at least that was until he opened his backpack and the smell of pot punched him in the nose.

“Jesus, Dustin, how much weed have you got in there?!” He asked in disbelief, finally turning to the guy who was rummaging for his M&M’s.

“Uhh…” Dustin began, pulling the packet out victoriously and opening them, “Not that much actually, I was prepping earlier so everything stinks of it.” Steve raised an eyebrow, licking the spoon clean before pulling Fudge onto his lap again. Dustin squirmed and Steve watched as he wolfed down a handful of the colorful candy and waited for the kid to speak. “I was thinking, um…”. Steve lowered the spoon from his lips and maintained his judgemental gaze, “Maybe I was wrong to give your address to Hargrove.” Steve snorted loudly, but said nothing. “I just… I thought it would help, y’know?”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?”

“Well, uh, like I said before, I thought if you guys just talked it out, then maybe-”

“What Dustin? Do enlighten me.” Steve snapped back, jamming the spoon into the tub and pulling Fudge up onto his shoulder, watching as Dustin’s face reddened.

“Then maybe you guys would quit attacking each other and… y’know…”

Steve stared at him, his big brown eyes narrowed, “You serious?” he said, offering Dustin the chance to speak but there was no reply. “Oh yes, because giving the man I attacked and the one that fucking stabbed me my damned address will somehow make it all better.”

“I didn’t-”

“What did you think was going to happen? Billy would ride over here on a white fucking horse; we talk, laugh, cry together, maybe make out and have dinner under the stars?!” His chest was heaving now as his frustration rose. Dustin said nothing, so Steve yanked the spoon out of the tub and pointed it at his friend, “This is Billy Hargrove we’re talking about. Billy and _me._ There’s something seriously wrong with him and I am pretty sure I’m evil, so yeah, no good can come out of this. Ever.” Steve ended his rant by sucking the spoon again and turning the television up.

A few minutes passed and Steve peered over his shoulder to see Dustin looking guiltily at the floor and sighed. Shit. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be harsh it’s just…”

“What?” Dustin asked as he turned to face Steve cautiously, “Did something - happen?”

“You could say that.” Steve replied sinking back into the sofa, his anger leaving his body to once again be replaced with shame.

“Did you wanna talk about it?” His friend offered.

“I dunno.”

“What happened?” Came the question and now it was Steve’s turn to look guiltily at the floor. “Did he hurt you?”

“I dunno.” Steve said, slipping the ice cream onto the table and stroking Fudge’s back anxiously, “Fuck… I think - I think I hurt him.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Having finished rounding up all the knives and sharp objects he could find, George Brown took a final mouthful from his cup of tea and peered down the hallway at the bathroom where his wife was currently hiding. He knew that the doctor on the phone had told him to keep her in his sight at all times, but truth be told, George was scared to see Beth right now. Even so, he knew it was time.

Breathing in deep and taking one last look at their joint graduation photo, Mr Brown crept down the hallway and paused outside the bathroom door, ear pressed against the wood so he could hear what his wife was doing. It was quiet but if he listened closely, he could just about make out Beth talking to herself.

“Leave me alone, go away.” He heard her beg before throwing something into the sink. George didn’t move and continued listening. “I hate you, go away, just leave me alone!”. Stomach twisting in knots, he considered saying something to make his presence known but he chose to remain quiet, wondering if he could understand more if he said nothing.

“I can’t go.”

There it was; that voice again - the Beth but not Beth.

The woman was sobbing now and George did his best to hold back his own tears, “You have to, I… _Please go!”_

“I can’t.”

A loud crash jolted George til he almost fell over. Scrambling frantically to the door he lowered his breathing, hoping his audible stumble hadn’t been heard by the intruder.

“He’s outside the door.”

Georges blood ran cold and he moved away from the bathroom, panicking as he opened his mouth to speak, “Bethany? Love, please, can you let me in?”. There was no reply, the voices lowered in hidden conversation, “Who are you talking to? Who needs to go?”

“Will you fuck off, George!” Beth yelled in a strained voice and Mr Brown held his mouth, heart aching as his wife fought him from inside the bathroom.

“No, darling, I can’t do that. You’re my wife, I’m here for-”

“ _Leave me alone! Everybody, leave me alone! Go away!”_

Now alarmed by his soulmates screaming, George considered breaking the door down to get to her but decided that he would try negotiation for a while longer, “Beth, there’s a psychiatric team on the way - I didn’t know what to do, I have no idea what’s going on. They need to do an assessment so they-”

George winced as the banging and crashing grew more frequent, “NO! _NO, no, NO!”_ The not-Beth screamed.

“I had to, I’m so sorry but I had no choice. You’re sick Beth, I… I’m scared for you.”

“You _idiot!”_ The stranger seethed before the tone changed again and his wife was back, “George, you have to go, you have to leave, now.” She pleaded.

“Please, open the door.” He begged, fear clouding his thoughts.

“What did you _do? Stupid man!”,_ “I’m scared, I’m so scared, George.”

“I’m coming in.”

 _“DON’T!”_ “Please listen to them, don’t come in!”

“No.” George said firmly, straightening himself in preparation to break the door down, “I don’t know who ‘they’ are and I don’t care, I’m coming in, for you Bethany.” And with that, George ignored the furious yelling from the bathroom to barrel into the door with his broad shoulders, his body weight proving itself useful for once as the weak lock broke and the door swung open.

He choked when he saw her, eyes opened wide as his wife recoiled from him. There was blood everywhere; the woman had been gouging at her face with a pair of tweezers until she was covered in the coagulating, red liquid. Her eyes were dark now and she was crying, and George could see underneath the blood that her skin was pale and mottled. The mirror was smashed alongside the patterned china elephant they had bought together on their honeymoon and she had torn the shower curtains down. Without thinking, George lunged forward and grabbed the tool his wife was using to destroy her face, throwing it into the hallway, ignoring the bloodied handprints on the wall as he grabbed her shoulders.

“Beth! NO! What have you done? Your face! I don’t… I don’t understand, please listen to me, you have to stop!” He said, voice breaking as he did his best to implore with his wife.

“I said _STAY AWAY!”,_ “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” The pair trapped in his wife’s body yelled as she fought back viciously, smearing her blood across his jumper with every hit.

“I can’t! I will not! Calm down, please, come into the bedroom and lay down, rest… anything.” He said, still gripping her arms firmly.

 _“NO!”_ the not-Beth screamed before shoving him harder than George thought possible, “Make it stop, George, _make them go away.”_

“Who? There’s no one here-”

“Them!” Beth cried, shaking her head and curling her arms around herself.

“There’s no one else here, I swear to you.”

“They’re in my _head!”_ Mrs Brown continued, cupping her skull and lowering herself onto Georges wide chest.

“I know, sweetheart.” Mr Brown replied, nervously stroking his wife's matted hair, “That’s why the doctors are coming - they’re going to make it all better.”

The intruder was back, pulling away from George suddenly as they shoved him again, terrified black eyes staring at him as he fell to the floor. _“NO!”_ they screamed, stepping over him as they tried to run out of the bathroom to the front door.

Rushing to his feet, George’s adrenaline drove instinctual response rather than a considered one as he chased after her, snatching at her stained nightdress, tearing it. The woman was undeterred, wrestling with the locked door, her body exposed. “Stop! Beth! You _have_ to stay here! You have to! I cannot let you leave!”

The woman began kicking the door, her bare feet bruising from the contact and George dove in front of her, taking a heel to the stomach for doing so. He buried down his pain and remained blocking the exit. _“Get out of the way!”_ They screamed, spitting as they did.

“NO!” He bellowed, seizing her hands, but his wife was nimble, dislocating her wrist so she could free herself to grab the lamp from the small table, cracking it over Georges head. Disoriented and in pain, he staggered for a moment but the woman didn’t relent, raising her arm to beat him again. He had to be quick. Swinging his body to the side, he hunkered down so his wife’s blow missed by a hair’s breadth and using that superior body weight again, George thrust himself sideways so his now unbalanced wife was forced off of her feet.

The woman’s head connected with the side of the table with a thud, and she dropped. Panicked and panting, Mr Brown rushed to his wife, cupping her cheeks and shaking her, “Stop fighting me, I don’t want to hurt you, please!”, he begged but the woman opened those fearful darkened eyes, trying to hit him again as she cried, “Make it stop, make them stop, I’m sorry, make it stop.”

Crying heavily now, George did the only thing he could, twisting his wife around in a powerful movement and wrapping his arm around her frail neck, applying pressure steadily as he locked his position. Mrs Brown bucked and struggled beneath him as he sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s for your own good. The doctors will make it stop, I promise you, I’m sorry...”.

He waited for his wife to weaken but continued his hold, not stopping until he was sure she couldn’t fight back any more. Eventually, her arms fell by her sides limply and George collapsed against the door, crying uncontrollably as he held his unconscious wife to him, blood trickled down his head and cheeks.

 

* * *

 

 

There were many things Dustin hoped hadn’t have happened Saturday night between Billy and Steve, most of them included Hargrove injuring his friend in some way, but here Harrington sat, cradling his cat as he confessed to the worst of them.

“Wait, what? What do you mean, you hurt him?” He asked in shock, M&M frozen in his hand as he stared at his friend.

“I don’t know anymore, I don’t fucking know!” The man said, holding his head in his palms.

Dustin rolled the blue M&M in his fingertips, eyes darting to the side then back to Steve as he prayed for this to be some giant misunderstanding. “You didn’t - not like before? Steve?”

“I don’t think so, I can’t tell.”

He squirmed inside, the drama hound having run back to his kennel, leaving Dustin with only paranoia and dread, “I don’t understand, how can you not know if you hurt him?”

“I dunno.” His friend groaned, still hunched over.

“How did you hurt him?” Dustin asked, trying to coax some kind of clarification from Steve, if only so he himself could avoid a guilt laden panic attack. Looking up at him now with confused, remorseful eyes, the man said nothing and Dustin could see he was struggling to find his words. He felt sick, unsure how bad shit could’ve gotten between the pair, and he breathed in deep, psyching himself up to get the details that for once, he didn’t want. “Okay, uh, why don’t you just… start from the beginning?” He tried, sighing as Steve wordlessly looked towards the kitchen, “He came over, right? Billy turned up at your door, you let him in and-”

“And it was fine - that part was fine. He was polite, played with Fudge a bit-”

Dustin dropped the M&M, “Woah, hold up. Billy played with _Fudge?_ Like, y’know… he played with your cat?” he asked, dumbfounded, wiping his forehead with his sticky, blue fingers.

“Yeah.” Steve replied, still looking gloomy as all hell.

“That’s good though, right?” he asked, relaxing a little in the armchair.

“I guess, he was very gentle with her.”

“Her? Fudge is a _she?_ Oh man.” Dustin puffed his cheeks out and exhaled dramatically, waiting for Steve to continue, but as the awkward silence reached its thirtieth second, he gave in, “So… Where did it go wrong?”

Steve slowly rolled back into the sofa, gazing vacantly at the TV as he replied, “We started talking.”

“That’s also good though. Progress, surely?” He said, trying to encourage his friend out of his pit of despair.

“No.”

“No?”

“It was a fucking mistake, Dustin, this entire goddamn thing was a fucking mistake - he just kept pushing.”

Concerned again, Henderson scratched his curly hair before bravely asking his next question, “Pushing what?”

“I - _fucking hell._ ” Steve began, hitting his head repeatedly as his cheeks reddened, “He kept bringing up the last time and the fight… He didn’t stop, man, he kept coming onto me whilst talking about what I did.” The man said, mortified.

“What, the assault?”

“The assault - all of it. He kept trying to make me say I liked it, wanted me to fucking admit to it.”

Dustin chewed his nails, breathing in deep through his nose, “But you didn’t though, did you?” he asked, trying to mask his discomfort. Steve went quiet again, and Dustin leant forward, eyebrows raised, “Wait, you did?!”

“I don’t know.” His friend scowled, reaching for the tub of runny ice cream and forcing a spoonful into his mouth, “I don’t have control over it - over any of this. I don’t _want_ to like it, I don’t _want_ to do those things to him but…”

“But, you also do.” Dustin finished, unsure how he was supposed to be feeling.

Steve nodded, twisting the spoon in the cold, sugary sludge. “He’s right though,” He began, unable to look at his friend, “It does feel good. Better than anything I’ve ever felt. I love seeing him in pain, Dustin, he’s - it’s _unreal._ I’m a fucking monster.”

Crap, you gotta save this Dusty, the kid thought to himself as the guilt came creeping back, “Hey - but if he’s into it, then there’s nothing wrong, right?”

“I feel bad though, I shouldn’t have done it, I shouldn’t have…” Steve trailed off, staring at the kitchen again as he blushed.

Dustin followed his gaze and slowly, he began to understand the significance of the kitchen, so with eyes darting from his friend to the breakfast bar, he asked “You said you hurt him, uh, what did you do?”

“I made him… y’know - again.” The crestfallen man replied, gaze still fixed on the tiled walls.

“That’s not that bad though, is it?” Dustin tried, doing his best to try and normalise everything going on.

“It was, Dustin. I choked him out. He was crying and he passed out after he -, I could’ve killed him.” His friend said in frustrated disgust before brushing the hair out of his hurting eyes, looking straight at him now, “I could’ve _killed_ him and I didn’t give a shit. He wanted me to do it, asked me to keep going, and I didn’t want to stop. He wanted me to lose control man, he fucking pushed me into it like he wasn’t interested in anything else other than me hurting him.”

Dustin watched in stunned silence as Steve lowered the tub down and reached for the Pepsi ashtray, hands twitching as he pulled a cigarette out of the carton. He didn’t know much about the ways of BDSM, only the basics, but this had to be normal - his friends actions _had_ to have been normal, extreme yes, but Steve wasn’t a bad person.

“I’m fucking evil and he knows it.”

“But he forced your hand, everyone has a breaking point Steve. Billy wanted it, so don’t feel guilty.” He said, reassuring not only Steve with the statement.

“Don’t feel guilty? But that’s how you’re supposed to feel after you hurt someone.”

“I know, but surely you just gave him what he likes?” Dustin said, watching his friend hide himself behind a cloud of smoke, “That’s a good thing.”

“If that’s the case, then why do I still feel awful? Like, what if… what if this was how Sharon felt?” Steve asked and Dustin winced angrily at the name, “What if I’m becoming her?”

“I don’t know a lot about what she did to you, Steve, but you’re not Sharon. You couldn’t possibly be. You feel bad for a start.”

“How can you possibly know that? She used to say she felt bad too; used to cry on the rare occasions I ever said anything and would look guilty… What if I fuck him up, Dustin? Haven’t I done enough damage already?”

Still determined to get his friend to see that he was not in the wrong, Dustin turned the tables, irritation increasing, “I dunno. He’s a strong guy, y’know? And I would argue he’s already pretty damaged. Billy Hargrove is responsible for his own decisions.” Steve said nothing but he straightened up, nodding slowly before growling at the cigarette that was already finished. “Besides, I’m fucking furious he asked for your address just for that. He told me he wanted to talk to you, promised in fact. If we’re gonna be angry at anyone, be angry at Billy. He lied to me and used you to get his fucking kicks.”

“I guess.” Steve replied, flipping the spent smoke into the ashtray.

“He created this entire thing. If you hadn’t been pushed, none of this would’ve happened. He’s the one with the problem, so chill out.”

“But that’s not the -”

“Steve, for once in your life, _don’t overthink it!”_ Dustin said angrily, slamming a few more M &M’s in his mouth to calm himself down.

“Oh yeah? Fine, asshole, roll me a spliff then, because that’s the _only_ way I’m gonna calm down at this point.” Steve scowled, staring back at the TV.

Dustin laughed, shaking his head at his friends predictability before pulling out his kit from the backpack, “Heh, as you wish, your highness.” He said, jokingly, fingers a blur as they worked their magic.

“Is it weird that I still want to see him?”

Tongue still on the paper he was licking, Dustin looked at Steve with a shocked expression. He did not expect that. Completing the roll and tapping it on his knee, he looked compassionately at the man who was still trapped in his head, “Maybe, I dunno, but we’re all a bit weird. I certainly am.” He replied, pulling a silly face as he passed the smoke over.

Sighing, Steve accepted the spliff, inspecting it closely as he spoke, “Do you reckon there’s any way I could be around him without all that bullshit kicking off again? I was so… mad after it was over I just blanked him until he left.”

“You really do want to see him again, don’t you? Wow, okay, uhh, maybe if you tried meeting somewhere public?” Dustin chanced, puzzled by his friends attachment to a man who only moments ago, they both wanted to punch.

Putting the smoke to his lips, Steve sparked up and inhaled deep, holding his breath before exhaling. He did this twice, melting into the sofa cushions before replying, “I guess, but I dunno what to do, like, how do you do this kinda stuff?”

Dustin looked at him and snorted, “Why the hell are you asking me?”

“I dunno, you just seem to know things that I don’t. Shit. What comes next after making a man cry having ejaculated all over your fucking kitchen sink?”

“Hahaha!” Dustin cackled loudly before toning himself down as he noticed Steve was being serious, “Uhh, a date?” he said, raising his arms, confused.

Steve choked on the joint and coughed loudly, eyes watering as he shook his head violently, “No! No date. I am not dating Billy Hargrove, I just want to talk.”

“Not this thing again.” Dustin groaned under his breath, eyes rolling, “Okay, here’s the thing, if you _genuinely_ want to talk to this douchebag, you gotta get him to a place where you guys cannot get it on.”

“Like where?”

“Umm, hmm, maybe go out for drinks? Just to chat, like two normal human beings. Both of you can walk away at any time, no pressure. Totally ordinary, two men just going for drinks, right?”

Steve looked away from Dustin and stared at the ceiling, his hands trembling slightly as he powertoked, “Right.” He croaked, holding his breath again.

“I’m being serious, Steve. What’s the worst that can happen?” Snorting loudly, Dustin bit back a grin as his friend coughed smoke out of his nose, raising his hands again as the man glared knowingly at him. “Think about it, you both just do the normal thing and go get a drink. Talk your shit through. If he says no, then that’s your answer.”

Brows knitted together in stoned confusion, Steve tried to get his words together, “Answer to what?”

“Whether or not you two can work.”

“There is no us two.” The guy replied, still coughing.

“Fine, whatever, will you at least consider it?”

“I am, I am, I just can’t imagine doing anything with him that isn’t mind games, fighting or -”

Dustin cringed at the pause, “I can’t imagine getting a girlfriend but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen someday.”

Relief coursed through Henderson as _finally_ Steve laughed, but once again, the high was ruined as his friend looked at the floor again, _“Shit.”_

“What now?!” Dustin asked incredulously, reaching for the joint.

“I dunno, fuck, I can’t believe this is coming out of my stupid mouth.”

Unable to deal with Steve’s roller-coaster, Dustin took three deep tokes in quick succession until his eyes went a bright pink. Only once completely sure he was stoned enough to be a good friend did he speak, “What?”

“What if… What if - fuck it, forget it. Nevermind.”

Holy crap, this stuff was _strong_ , Dustin thought to himself, blinking blissfully as the pot cushioned his brain in cotton wool, “Tell me, man - I’m all ears. You can’t leave me hanging now.”

Steve opened his mouth and shut it again quickly, squinting as he stole the spliff back, much to Dustin’s dismay, and he watched as Harrington matched his three tokes, letting out a little gasp as he flopped back onto the sofa. “What if… Billy wants to fuck?”

Dustin grinned ear to ear, unable to stop himself, “I thought that was obvious, dude, that’s _totally_ what he wants.”

Resting an arm over his face, Steve groaned loudly, “No, I mean, what if it actually happens?”

Still grinning, Dustin lunged forwards, stumbling a bit as he tried to snatch the smoke back from his completely fucked friend, “Uh but haven’t you already-”

“No, we did stuff but not… that.”

Pretending now to be a dragon by puffing smoke out of his nose, Dustin did his best to pay attention, “Why? You nervous or something?”

“No, of course not.” Steve said, clearly lying as his face reddened under his arm, “It’s just I’ve never y’know, with a guy before. I don’t know if I’d be any fucking good.”

“Thank you Jesus for this blessed gift” Dustin whispered before bursting into hysterical laughter, gripping his sides as Steve looked at him offended and confused.

“Why’re you laughing?”

The man’s sincerity only made it worse and Dustin pulled the throw over his head, trying to block out his friends annoyed face, “Steve! I don’t think it’s that fucking different to boning a girl! Hahaha!” He managed before biting down on the blanket to silence himself.

“Stop LAUGHING!”

“You are _painfully_ neurotic, y’know that?” He giggled, trying to poke his head out, “Just… Just see what happens, yeah?”

“I am! I was going to! I was just trying to say-”

“You’re just going out for drinks! _Drinks, Steve!_ ” Dustin croaked, his voice hoarse, “The whole point was that you _didn’t_ want to fuck Hargrove, so quit stressing!”

“It’s not funny, dickweed!” Steve yelled, his face screwed up with anger.

Despite all his best efforts, Henderson couldn’t keep his shit together anymore, knocking over his backpack as he doubled over in hysterics, almost cross eyed from the effort it took to breathe, “It kinda is!”

“SHUT UP!” Steve snarled, almost falling over his feet as lunged forward to punch Dustin on the arm.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as his friend reached to grip the side of the armchair and slipped, “I’m sorry! I can’t stop!”

“You’re a fucking cunt, y’know that? I’m trying to have a fucking… whatever this is, and you’re just…” Steve said furiously as he tried to stand but Dustin could see he was on the verge of cracking, “You’re just… sitting there _laughing at me!”_

“It’s because your fussin’ over nothing! “What if I’m no good”, Steve! You were ‘The King’ for a fucking reason you know, haha! Sure, Billy isn’t a chick, but somehow you’ve got this reasonably hot, fucked up _powerhouse_ of a man obsessed with you. I mean, _come on!_ I can’t even get a girl to look at me.”

That seemed to do the trick and Dustin folded his arms triumphantly as he watched Steve fall back onto the floor, holding himself as he laughed. “Well maybe if you wore something other than that garbage, you may stand a chance!”

“See? You’ve got no problems here. You’re just overthinking and paranoid, as usual. It’s drinks okay? Drinks. Go ask him if he wants to go out after work and take it from there, you tool.”

Still giggling, Steve reached for the ice cream tub, pulling it towards him possessively, “Alright _fine_ , you’ve convinced me. Drinks it is.” He said before drinking the melted contents of the punnet.

 

* * *

 

 

George Brown had remained laying on his wife’s lap, stroking her sprained wrist as he counted down the minutes waiting for the psychiatric team to arrive. He felt like he was slowly losing his mind but he knew what he was feeling was nothing compared to Bethany’s internal turmoil. Just a week ago, everything was okay but now… Now, George didn’t even recognise himself.

The finger slowly tracing his wife’s palm froze as he heard the sound of someone pulling up to the driveway. This was it. Shaking, the man tried to stand, his hand slowly leaving his partners side as he walked solemnly to the door. He breathed in deep, shaking away the tears that were trying to form and opened it, feigning a weak smile.

“Mr Brown?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Good afternoon, we’ve come about,” The paramedic began, looking at his clipboard before continuing, “Bethany Brown. Is she here?”

“Yes, Beth’s my wife, she’s through here.” George replied, eyeing up the three men who stood outside his house.

“Can we come in?” The other paramedic asked kindly.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Please, excuse the mess - she…” Mr Brown tried, his voice breaking.

The grey haired paramedic rested a gentle hand on his shoulder to comfort him, “No need to explain.”

“Can our colleague from complex cases come in?” The second one asked again, gesturing to the blonde man in the tidy grey suit who stashed his phone in his pocket as he walked over, extending a hand in greeting, which George shook gratefully.

“No problem, sure.”

George stood aside as the two paramedics and the suited man walked into his home. The more senior practitioner took one look at the blood on the floor and rushed over to the mutilated woman tied to her armchair with bed sheets, his boots crunching on the broken glass as he pulled the emergency response kit from his shoulder, “Jesus…”

“I’m sorry, I - She - Dr Simmons said I had to keep her indoors at all costs… for her safety. She was out of control, I…” George said through tears as the second paramedic joined them.

“We understand, we were filled in on what to expect.” The younger one said, checking the woman’s pulse.

“I don’t know why she did it - she was carving holes into her face, I couldn’t stop her, I tried.”

“Often,” The senior man began, pulling out antiseptic wipes to begin cleaning Bethany’s face, “Self harm like this is an indicator of severe psychological distress. Your wife must’ve been fighting some powerful demons, Mr Brown. This isn’t the worst we have seen by a long shot.” He said, trying to be reassuring as he inspected the damage.

“Her wrist, how did this happen?” The younger paramedic asked, gently turning it over in his hand.

Almost immobile with guilt, George replied “She was trying to leave. I was trying to stop her, but she… did that as she tried to break free. She then hit me with that lamp and wouldn’t stop. She was immune to everything I tried… I had to… I had to…”

The older man stood and made his way to Mr Brown, asking where he had been hit before getting a clean set of gloves to begin to clear the blood caked onto his head. “It’s a break, Mr Brown, she broke her wrist. She’s going to need surgery.” The younger one said, binding the wound so it couldn’t be knocked, starting the process of cautiously untying Bethany Brown.

“I’m sorry, I thought.. The woman on the phone said I had to keep her here by any means. She said it was for her own good, I swear, that was all I was trying to do.” George sobbed.

The paramedic attending to his wounds opened his mouth to speak but the Complex Cases worker spoke first, his voice measured and authoritative, “You did the right thing, Mr Brown. Better a minor injury here, in the safety of her own home, than her having done worse to someone else on the outside. She hurt you, yes?”

“Yes, but-”

“No buts, Mr Brown. If she was ill enough to hurt you - to attack her husband, someone she loves, can you imagine what she could’ve done to a stranger?”

George looked at the man’s green eyes and saw the weight behind his words. Turning back to his wife who was being gently helped to her feet, he sighed sadly, “I guess you’re right. Bloody hell, she was fine five days ago, I don’t understand what could’ve caused this.”

“These things happen, Sir, mental illness is a very serious matter. It doesn’t care who you are, it will still take all you’ve got.” The older paramedic said, slipping the emergency response bag over his shoulder, still holding onto Beth as the other draped a blanket over her shoulders to preserve her dignity.

It was then that Mrs Brown came to, eyes open wide and jet black as she screamed, throwing off the men trying to escort her and trying to claw at the binding around her wrist.

“Ma’am! Mrs Brown! Calm down! We’re paramedics - we’ve come to take you to the hospital.”

Beth shoved the man away violently, shaking as she looked for the door, her chest hanging out of her nightdress. Behind them all, the suited man reached into his briefcase and pulled out a leather case containing a syringe.

“It’s okay! We need you to calm down! Your wrist is broken ma’am, you need to go to the hospital, this is for your own good.” The younger paramedic tried, using his body as a barricade to prevent the woman from escaping.

“Bethany is it? Beth, Mr Brown called us because he was scared for you, because he loves you and was worried about you.”

The suited man began drawing a clear liquid from a vial into the syringe and tapped the needle calmly, his eyes following the chaos in the room as George ran to his wife’s side.

“Beth, please stop fighting. It’s not your fault, I don’t blame you, you’re not in trouble - you’re sick, please let them help.” He stammered, reaching to grip her forearm.

 _“This is YOUR fault! You betrayed us!”_ She screamed, kicking out at George who remained steady. _“GET HIM AWAY!”_

swiftly, the suited man moved over to Bethany Brown and slipped the long needle into her jugular without saying a word. He pulled the syringe away and waited for her to drop before wiping the needle on a cloth and returning it to his leather case.

George knelt beside his barely conscious wife who had been caught by the two paramedics now holding her upright. “What did you-”

“Just a minor tranquilliser, nothing to worry about Mr Brown, this is common procedure for dangerous patients.” The man said, putting the container into his briefcase and straightening his orange tie.

“I didn’t want to hurt her… I didn’t want any of this to happen.” George said in despair as the two men gently walked his wife to the door.

“You did nothing wrong, you are not at fault here.” The suited man said, taking one final look at the destroyed living room before escorting the trembling Mr Brown out of his home.

George squinted at the light, his face as pale as the cold, grey sky, and he turned his head to see the spectators standing at his drive, mouths covered as Bethany Brown was walked to the ambulance, her body barely covered by their winter blanket.

“Mr Brown - George? She will be in the best hands.” The suited man whispered, opening his briefcase again to pull out a clipboard.

Disoriented and numb, George kept his eyes fixed on his wife unable to look at the faces of his neighbours.

“She’s just tried to attack you and two of my staff. I could push for sectioning at this point, but if you sign her in for inpatient care voluntarily, we can avoid that.”

George continued to space out, unable to feel his knees as his mouth went dry.

“We need you to sign this waver to give your consent for her to be detained at the psychiatric facility. I believe my coworker informed you of this process over the phone?”

George nodded, speechless as he watched his wife being lowered slowly onto a stretcher, mouth closed tight as the restraints were fitted.

“If you could sign here.” The man asked, his finger hovering over the dotted line that George signed without looking. “And here” he said again to which Mr Brown scrawled his name, hatefully. “Thank you.” The man finished, folding the clipboard over and slipping it back into the briefcase.

“Can I… Can I see her? In the hospital?” George asked, his voice empty.

“For the first week after the assessment, we would advise against you seeing her.”

Feint now, the man stumbled and almost dropped to his knees; his neighbours running over to him to help him stand.

“If you have any concerns, call this number. Someone will inform you of her progress over the coming days.”

“Thank you” He managed, tears rolling silently down his cheeks as his neighbour encouraged him to lean on his shoulder, another rubbing his back to comfort him. “Keep her safe.”

“We will, Mr Brown, you have our word. Take care, and remember, you did this for her wellbeing.” The suited man said, before shaking Georges hand and turning his back on the community that started to shield Mr Brown, climbing into the front of the ambulance without a second glance.

 

* * *

 

 

Loud yelling and a couple of sudden thuds pulled Billy out of his slumber and forcefully introduced him to his Monday morning hangover. The man gasped suddenly, clutching his head as he opened his eyes, hurriedly closing them in an attempt to prevent the piercing headache from worsening. Fuck this and all, he thought, resisting the urge to drag his pain upstairs to the assholes who’d decided that this was the best time to have a domestic.

Billy hadn’t been able to sleep properly since the night he’d left Steve’s house and being that he had the day off, Hargrove spent most of the following Sunday in a drunken stupor. It had seemed like a good idea at the time; bury down all voices and the weird blank spaces by focusing on getting as wasted as humanly possible, but now he was paying for it. Big time. The questions going through his mind for the past thirty or so hours being: “What the fuck did I do? What the fuck is going on? Why am I like this? Can someone please come and shoot me already?”. Billy had hoped that Monday would bring a change to this internal commentary, but alas, the first thing he pictured as he rolled over onto his side was Steve stroking a finger across his lips. I’m fucking cursed.

_“Why’re you still overthinking this B?”_

Rolling his eyes, Billy hit the pillow where his imaginary demon lay in disguise, “Fuck _OFF!”_ he shouted, pulling the bed-covers over his head.

_“It happened, accept it. The why’s aren’t important - it just felt good. Get over it.”_

Swearing and headbutting the pillow, Billy very slowly rolled to the edge of his bed, clutching his stomach as he tried to stand, wrestling with the sweatpants as he staggered to the washroom. His persecutor followed, watching him as he threw a toothbrush into his mouth, chewing on it as he moved to take a piss.

 _“Your dick’s still intact, see? No harm, no foul. Quit feeling guilty - it doesn’t matter anyway.”_ The shadow mused, peering over Billy’s shoulder.

Ignoring the voice, he tucked himself away, rinsed his hands and resumed his furious brushing, desperate to get the vile taste out of his mouth. Spitting into the sink, he rinsed his face with cold water and stared at the mirror, hair rolling over his bare chest as he glared at his reflection. “It matters because I feel like fucking shite and I’m pretty damned sure I made him do it.”

 _“Did you though? I mean really… You can’t truly force a person to do anything they don’t want to do.”_ His persecutor continued, leaning over the sink with him.

Billy turned angrily to the empty space behind him where he pictured his demon existed, staring daggers as he spoke, “Cut the bullshit, you _told_ me to make him do it.”

 _“Who me?”_ the creature asked, clutching its chest, _“You mean you, sweetheart.”_

“What? Whatever, that’s my point. _We_ made him do it.” He spat, towelling his face dry and resting it over his shoulders.

_“All we did was push… He could’ve stopped at anytime. He could’ve pulled away, kicked you out, y’know? He had options. It’s not our fault that he chose not to utilise them.”_

Walking out of the bathroom, Billy slammed the door behind him in a foolish attempt to shut his psychic companion away and trudged into the kitchen, still holding his head. Crap, now he was being followed by the memory of Steve sitting on his window ledge, smoking as he turned his back on Billy. That stung.

_“You can stop that for a start - look, you got what you wanted, be happy about that.”_

Eyebrows raised and shaking his head in disbelief, Billy opened the fridge, hands hovering over the open bottle of liquor before making the sensible choice, grabbing the bottle of orange juice and downing it.

_“Think about it, Steve couldn’t resist you Billy! It was obvious, I’m telling you. And anyway, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of persuasion, some people just need a poke, that’s all. All I did was show you what buttons you had to push to unlock him.”_

I’m crazy. I’m fucking crazy, Billy thought to himself slinging the now empty bottle into the trash and grabbing a carton of eggs. “Do you even _have_ a moral compass?” Billy asked the empty room, pouring oil into a pan and heating it.

_“I don’t know, you tell me. Besides, morality is a waste of time - a privilege even! It’s not like Steve showed such care for right or wrong when he strangled you, did he? He was still rock hard regardless.”_

Fumbling to catch the egg that almost flew out of his hand, Hargrove cursed himself, cracking it into the pan as his cheeks burned.

_“See? Deep down, well no, hardly deep down - obviously you enjoyed it.”_

Hands suddenly a million miles away, Billy strained as the world around him seemed to warp. Not again, he mouthed silently, and he was there; back in Steve’s kitchen, cock in hand, the other clinging to the dish towel that was wrapped around his neck, arching his back and pushing his ass into Harrington’s crotch. He could feel everything but the sounds were muffled, clarity existing only on the pairs contact, and as Billy struggled to breathe again, he entered into that euphoric space where nothing mattered and he didn’t exist…

“Fuck! OW!” He swore as hot oil spat on to his forearm from the pan that was now hissing, angry at it’s neglect. Shaking his head again, Billy tried to focus on cooking but before he knew it, he was gone again. This time he was right on the edge of consciousness, Steve’s voice filling his ears as Billy felt within him the desperate urge to obey anything the man said including his final command - one he managed to remain awake to complete and he remembered the feeling as…

The smoke alarm shrieked from the wall behind him, shooting Billy out of his episode. “What the _fuck?!”_ He swore as he saw his hands in his pants and what used to be eggs smoking in the pan. Whipping his hands away from his semi, he slammed the hobs off, shoving the pan into the sink and turning the tap on, standing on his toes to smack the alarm off.

_“It’s just madness B, you’re batshit crazy.”_

“Jesus Christ.” Billy shouted, his fingers trembling as he rifled in an almost empty carton of cigarettes for a smoke. Cursing at the lighter that refused to start, he threw it across the room, and throwing caution to the wind, he bent over the hob, holding the igniter on so he could light up. How did this man have _this_ much of an effect on him? He thought to himself, opening all the windows and pacing as he smoked. Billy didn’t remember a lot of anything to be honest, but right now he was adamant that something was getting worse.

Would it’ve been different had he actually just talked to the guy? If he had ignored his relentless, jumped up libido and the bastard voice in his head, and just… had a conversation? Steve was capable of compassion, he’d felt it when he came back to the land of the living as the man stroked his hair gently, but even so, was that even real? And what if he’d stayed… would there have been a chance for another kiss? Maybe one that didn’t come from a place of rage?

 _“Aaaaand we’re back to fantasy again. You want fantasy?”_ His persecutor said menacingly, wrapping their ghostly hands around Billy’s eyes till the world went fuzzy again _, “Try this for size.”_

He didn’t get a chance to fight back as he was thrown into another scene, his face forced underwater as he panicked, trying to breathe but swallowing liquid instead, and from behind him, Billy felt someone pull his trousers down viciously. Bewildered, he coughed and tried to grip the counter as the mystery person pulled his head up fast by his hair, water streaming down his face. “This is all on you, Billy, I suggest you brace yourself.” He heard who he assumed must be Steve, whispering slyly as his body tensed in panic, feeling the man press his hard on against him…

“NO!” Billy yelled out loudly in his living room, gripping onto his head, shame and self hatred gripping his stomach as he did his best to block out the images flashing through his mind.

 _“Y’see? That’s more like it - you don’t need all that… pathetic crap. You’re stronger than that, I know what you can take. Quit pitying yourself.”_ The shade said, pretending to be soothing as it rubbed Billy’s shoulders.

“I’m going to hell.” He said, hopelessly before turning to the door as he heard footsteps. There was a strong knock and Billy cursed again, praying his erection wasn’t visible as he made his way to the open window, peering through the blinds. “Who - _Steve?!_ No fucking way. Nu-uh. Nope. Fuck.” He hissed under his breath, checking his pulse and adjusting his pendant so it was central on his chest before opening the door.

“What’re you doing here? Again?” He asked, a lot more antagonistically than he’d intended.

Steve frowned, unimpressed, and cocked an eyebrow, his brown eyes looking Hargrove up and down. This was a different Steve to the one who’d turned up at his house the last time, this Steve had confidence behind him. “And good morning to you too.” The man replied, flatly.

The pair stood in awkward silence, broken momentarily as Steve stood back to let some kid run past, before speaking again, “Sweatpants again?”

“Huh? Oh yeah.” Billy answered, unsure why they mattered.

There was another agonising pause and Billy looked to the side, unsure of what to do or say. “You alright?” Steve asked, catching him by surprise.

Billy’s eyebrows raised for a second before resuming his usual cocky face, completely unused to the question which had been asked a lot over the past month, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve looked at the broken light above the door and sighed with frustration, shaking his head, “Whatever man, look, I just came by to ask if you wanted to grab a drink or something?”

 _“What?!”_ The shade yelled, dumbfounded, now standing right by Billy’s side.

“What? Now? It’s 9am.” Billy responded, baffled by the invitation.

Laughing in a way that was surprisingly pleasant, Steve smiled, “No, dumbass - when you’re free.”

Billy’s heart was having fucking palpitations at this point, and whilst he was bizarrely flattered by the proposal, he was also confused and suspicious.

_“This has to be a joke, Billy - What’s his game?”_

“Why?” He asked, as cool as he could manage.

“Oh, I dunno, I guess I figured we could try this whole ‘talking’ thing again.” The man said, not quite making eye contact and Billy felt reassured that he wasn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable.

“Why the fuck do you want to talk to me?” he answered, unable to mask his shock.

“Are you for real? A tonne of shit has happened and for whatever reason, you told Dustin you wanted to talk to me. Now unless all you wanted was… what happened Saturday night, then it’s my thinking we should try again.”

Billy winced internally at the change in tone, feeling momentarily ashamed how close Steve was to the truth. “I don’t understand” he said, looking at the man with enquiring blue eyes.

Steve looked right back at him, his dark eyes fixed on Billy’s as he spoke, frustrated now, “What isn’t there to understand? Okay, right, fine. _I_ want to talk to you. Without a repeat of Saturday. Is that possible or am I wasting my time?”

_“Fucking bullshit, that’s what this is.”_

“You serious?”

“Yeah, very much so. Only if you want to though.”

“Sure, fine, whatever gets you going.” Billy replied, his facade now blown to pieces as he did his best to look at anything other than Steve.

“Really?” He heard him ask, surprised.

“Yeah.”

“Wow, okay then. When are you free?”

“I’m working ‘til seven this evening, so I guess anytime after then?”

“Uh okay, where d’you wanna meet?”

“My bar’s fine.”

“Where’s that?”

“Quarry’s End, turn off just before the interstate.”

“Okay then, so, Quarry’s End at let’s say 7:30?”

Billy nodded, completely bewildered.

“Just to talk.”

“Just to talk.”

“Right.” Steve said, clearly taken aback by how smoothly this whole thing went. “Okay, I guess I’ll be off then.”

“I guess so.”

Rubbing his head, Steve went to go put his headphones back in and walk away, but he paused, turning to Billy again, “7:30.”

“Got it.” Billy said, nodding as the man walked away in a daze.

As soon as Steve was out of sight, Billy spun on his heel, silently screaming as he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the roots tightly, “What the actual _fuck_ is going on?!” he hissed, at a loss.

 _“He wants you, that’s what’s going on. It’s round four Billy, round fucking four!”_ The shadowy asshole said excitedly as they twisted their body around Billy’s.

“No, shithead, he wants to talk - what the fuck’s up with you anyway?”

The demon said nothing and instead tried to tease him with another flurry of images, but Billy’d had enough of it, storming into the house and slamming the door behind him. Frustratingly, his anthropomorphised subconscious floated through the door after him.

 _“Does it excite you Billy? Does it get you all hot in there? It sure as hell excites me.”_ The creature said, standing in front of Hargrove and flipping their cock out as they cackled to themselves.

“You’re vile, you know that?”

_“Jokes on you pal, it’s your dick!”_

Flustered, Billy looked down and swore, seeing that the spectre was right. “Fuck my life!” He cursed, static building in his ears as he tucked himself back in again, “I’m going mad, I’m losing my shitting mind.”

 _“Give into it! You know you want to.”_ His harasser crooned,

Furious, Billy turned on the demon, taking the cigarette he’d just relit and stubbed it on the creatures shoulder. The demon said nothing, just watched and laughed as Billy fell away from himself, yelling out as he noticed the cigarette being pressed onto his own arm.

_“Who’s the idiot now, hahaha!”_

Running into the bathroom, eyes watering, Billy shook as he looked at his arm, noticing the other marks dotted around it. Fear started to well within him as he tried desperately to remember the origins of them. No luck. Nothing there. He stared at himself in the mirror, his reflection slightly blurred as if he was an incomplete painting and he fell away from it.

_“I told you Billy, you’re crazy - you’re broken. I wouldn’t lie to you.”_

Billy skidded out of the bathroom and headed straight for the cupboard next to the refrigerator. 9am it may be but he’d be damned if he continued with this absolutely absurd morning sober, he’d choose being intoxicated over being insane any day. Pouring himself a double from his almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels, he necked it, running his tongue along his teeth and clutching the counter as he waited for the comforting warmth to make its way to his brain. “He’s gonna be the death of me.” Billy gasped, trying to catch his breath.

_“If only!”_

 

* * *

 

 

Head down, hands busy, Billy did his best to focus on serving the drunk idiots at the bar. He was grumpy and stressed, having hardly eaten all day and he’d made it his mission to avoid talking to everyone as much as possible, given this Mondays proclivity to get very fucking weird in record timing. So wrapped up in his duties was Billy, that he’d hardly noticed Mr Brown who’d been equally silent and avoidant. Any other day he would’ve cared, but not today. Not when he’d spent the entire morning before work talking to himself and trying desperately to remember anything that had happened before 1995.

Time passed slow and uneventfully behind the bar, right up until Billy asked George for a spare glass and he spotted the bruising and scratch marks across the man’s forearm. “Fucking hell, what happened to you?” He asked, putting the glass down and gripping Georges arm to look closely, recognising the marks instantly, having worn them himself many times before.

Mr Brown pulled his hand away sharply, pulling his sleeve down, “Nothing.” he said curtly, turning back to his customers.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Billy replied, doing the same.

“Yeah well, it is.”

Concerned, Billy said nothing but continued to watch the man as he worked, only now noticing how the man favoured his right leg, and shit, what the fuck was that on his head? He concluded that there must’ve been some kind of fight, but he didn’t want to push at this point. Oddly though, George was the one to break the ice.

“How did it go with Stephanie?”

“Hmm?” Billy asked, distracted as he poured a customers drink behind the counter.

“Stephanie - your ‘reunion’?”

Billy swore as the drink he’d been pouring overflowed, “Shit uh, one sec.” He replied, wiping the glass before returning it to the customer.

“That bad, huh?”

“Not bad - well I don’t know.” He said, reaching under the counter for a clean-ish cloth to dry the mess he’d made. “I can’t tell to be honest.”

Turning away from the bar, George reached into his pockets and popped a few pills into his mouth, swallowing them down with water. “I see, did you take my advice?” he asked, rinsing the glass.

“I tried, but-” Billy grunted, clearing the glasses from the side and placing them into the tray for the dishwasher, pushing them in with his hips as he shut the machines door. “It was different in the moment.”

George reached over Billy to grab the cloth, turning to quickly wipe down the bar top. “Always is, so what went wrong?”

“What do you mean, wrong? I never said-”

“You didn’t need to.” The man replied, wiping down the nozzles.

“Right, you a mind reader now, George?” he asked sarcastically, turning the dishwasher on.

“No, i just know that look.”

“What look?”

“Like someone has kicked you very hard in the balls with steel toed boots.”

Billy frowned and stared at George. This was not like him _at_ all. “Yeah, well, I dunno. I don’t know if it went good or bad. He-she is difficult to read. It got heated.”

“No action then, I take it?” The man asked, casually.

Raising his eyebrows at Mr Brown’s bluntness, Billy slowed to sling the towel over his shoulder, looking at the clock behind the man, “There was some.”

“So why the long face? You got what you wanted.”

“What? No, I - Hey, what the hell’s up with you?” Billy challenged, taking another order without saying a word, reaching into one of the refrigerators to grab a bottle, flipping the bottle opener out of his apron pocket to snap the cap off.

“Nothing, I already said.”

“Bullshit.” Billy replied knowingly, passing the drink over and running the cash through the till before turning back to George, “I ain’t gonna tell you shit until you give me something.”

The man looked pained for a moment, wiping his eyes before lowering his tone to irritation again, “It’s personal, Billy.”

“And? So’s my shit, yet you’ve no problem sticking your nose in that.” He said condemningly, checking to see if there were any more customers that needed serving before giving his attention fully to George who just sighed and poured himself a shot. “Seriously though, what’s going on?”

Glaring at Billy, Mr Brown swallowed the shot and slammed it down on the counter, “It’s Beth.”

“Has she gotten worse?”

“No, no, no, no. That’s not how this works. My turn.”

Raising an eyebrow, Billy smirked, always game for a challenge, “Fine, bring it old man.”

“How did Steph react when you arrived?”

“Shocked, awkward but generally okay-ish. Has Beth gotten worse?”

“Considerably. What happened next?”

“He burnt all his fucking food and sliced his finger open. Well, that was an ongoing catastrophe. How bad are we talking - with Beth, I mean?”

George exhaled slowly, eyeing the shot glass, “bad.”

“You’ve gotta try harder than that.” Billy said, trying to use the ‘game’ to keep George focused and away from the bottle.

“Full psychological breakdown. Never seen anything like it. Did you find out what Steph wanted?”

Aching out of concern for the man, Billy nodded his head, “Kinda, I established what she likes.”

“So you actually spoke?”

“No - sort of. Hey, no, my turn. Do you know what tipped Beth over the edge?”

“Haven’t a clue.” George said, sighing sadly, “The doctors say it’s intense distress, I’m not too sure if I believe them.”

“Shit.” Billy exhaled.

“Yup. So it got heated - in what way and how?”

“That’s two questions.” he said, firing the man an insincere glare, but when George said nothing, Billy rolled his eyes and continued, “Fine. We fought, it got aggressive.”

“You pushed right?”

“Yup, he didn’t take that well at all. Did Beth do that to you?” He asked, gesturing to the wound on Mr Brown’s head.

“I don’t know.” George replied, brows furrowed as he looked out the far window.

“How can’t you know?” Billy asked, confused.

“It was her body but the thing that attacked me wasn’t my wife.”

Pausing to think for a moment, he gave in and shook his head, “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t be - it’s nothing to do with you.”

“How is she now?”

“I don’t know, she’s not at home.”

“Where is she?” Billy pushed, feeling genuinely troubled for the man who began to pour himself another shot. Without thinking, Hargrove leaned over to gently guide Mr Brown’s hands away from the bottle, but he smacked them away, knocking back the double measure before Billy could intervene.

“Psych ward.”

“Shit. I don’t know what to say.”

“Well,” the man began, wiping the residue from his beard with his thick hand, “You can start by answering my questions. You, young Hargrove just asked me four in a row, now it’s my turn.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Billy gritted his teeth, not really wanting to pursue the game anymore, but he could see George needed a distraction, so he did the honourable thing and submitted himself for questioning, “Alright, whatever. Go.” He snapped impatiently, ushering George along.

“Did you provoke Steph?”

“Yes - could’ve been a mistake, I can’t tell.”

“Did she mirror your desires and intensity?”

Billy thought hard before replying, “Uh yes, you could say that.”

“Does Steph want to see you again?”

“Yes - tonight after work.”

“Is Steph a guy?”

“Yea- hang on, _what?”_ Billy began, lowering his voice instantly in panic, “How’d you-”

“You’ve said ‘he’ now more than a couple of times, Billy.” George retorted with a knowing eyebrow raised.

Oh, fuck today. Fuck this, Billy repeated internally as he went into defensive mode, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone could’ve possibly overheard, his heart pounding. _“Shit!”_

“Calm down.”

“Calm down? Are you _mad?_ Fuck, no one’s supposed to know!” He spat, hitting the wall hard before bending over the counter, numb from shock and fear.

George looked at Billy confused, reaching out to the guy who was clearly freaking out. “Hey, bloody hell, why would I care who you like?” he asked, trying to be comforting.

“That’s not the _point!”_ Billy hissed under his breath, pulling away from George as he tried his best to calm down and not make a scene, “None of this is supposed to be noticeable. It’s a secret and it has to stay that way.” He said, deadly sincere, looking the man square in the eyes, his pupils shrinking.

“Hey, listen, kid, I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” George whispered, clearly trying his best to understand where the explosive reaction came from.

“I’ll fucking kill you if you do.” Billy snarled, body shaking as he hid his face from his friend.

“I bet you would. But seriously, you have my word.”

Staring at the man who’d just outed the secret he’d spent his whole life having to contain for his safety, Billy tried to release his grip on the counter, “Jesus, I should’ve known better; should’ve paid more fucking attention-”

“No, shut up.” George said firmly now, “I was pushing you, okay? That’s on me.”

“You’re a fucking bastard.”

“I know. Your secret’s safe with me. Pick your chin up - you’ve got crazy eyes going on. That’s better. Does anyone else know?” The man asked gently.

“No one of any importance,” Billy replied, taking his pulse again, talking as he waited for it to go down, “And it has to stay that way.”

“Understood.”

Resorting back to a threatening snarl, Billy whipped his fingers away from his neck and forced himself into Georges space, still too reactive to believe the man, “Do you though? Because it’s pretty fucking important that you do.”

Calmly and with a great deal more authority than expected, Mr Brown ignored Billy’s confrontational approach and spoke very quietly, “Listen here, kid, I was pulling guys in the 70’s. In England. I know the danger of that knowledge in the wrong hands, trust me.”

Guard lowering, Billy blinked and looked at George quizzically, “Wait… what? You? But what about Beth?”

The man laughed sympathetically, thumping a hand on his back, “Bisexuality is a thing, young Hargrove. I’ve had my share of both and so has my wife. We may look ‘normal’ but that doesn't mean we are.”

Holding his head as his adrenaline dissipated, Billy backed down from George and leaned against the bar, “I… I’m sorry, I-”

“I get it, simmer down.”

“Was it really that bad? In England I mean?” Billy eventually asked, his voice slowly returning to normal.

“What, in the 70’s? You have _no_ idea.” The man replied, exhaling as he resumed cleaning the tap nozzles. “So, ‘Stephanie’, she’s meeting you after work, yes?”

“Yeah, she wanted to get drinks and talk.” he replied, not making eye contact with George to protect his blush.

“See? That’s good.”

“Is it though?” Billy asked in despair.

“Any continuation of contact is good, Billy, try and focus on that.” George said before he was interrupted by one of the managers tapping him on the shoulder.

“Mr Brown? George? Hey… The phone, it’s for you.” The woman said, very gently.

Billy watched suspiciously, absentmindedly serving a customer as George looked at the woman confused, “Can’t it wait?” he asked.

“I don’t think so.” His manager replied, sadly as she gently held the man’s arm, “It’s Beth.”

Breath caught in his throat, Billy looked at George who looked right back at him, apologetically, to which Hargrove ushered for him to leave, catching sight of the man’s hands balling into fists as he walked into the office.

Something about the plight of Bethany Brown got to Billy in a way he didn’t understand; creeping under his skin until it felt like knives would pierce the flesh, tearing him to shreds. It wasn’t that he _felt_ much, it was more that there was a confusing absence of feeling circling this weird void space in his mind that he couldn’t go anywhere near. He was agonising over George, which was odd because Billy had assumed he couldn’t feel empathy like this, but with Beth… it was like all cogs jammed in his brain and he couldn’t move. Confused again, he did the only thing he could think of and power-cleaned nervously, watching the clock. 6:57pm. Oh Christ, of course it was all happening at once.

George returned, face pale with watering eyes, shaking as he was escorted back to the bar by the woman with the ridiculously tight ponytail. The man said nothing, drifting past Billy and standing by the wall. “What happened, is she-” Billy began before trailing off as he noticed George’s hand hover by a bottle of vodka. Cautiously, he removed the bottle from Mr Brown, knowing all too well the pull of this particular vice, and tried again, “Hey, talk to me, sit down.”

“I’ve gotta keep going, I have to-” the man began before going silent again, freezing.

Snapping his fingers at his manager, Billy gestured for her angrily to come over to him. Reluctantly, she made her way over and raised an eyebrow at him, arms folded. “You take over, I’ve technically finished, but he - he needs to breathe.”

The woman rolled her eyes. Billy knew she loathed him but he couldn’t give a damn right now, quite frankly, she could stick her job up her ass for all he cared. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Hargrove, I’m your boss, who the hell do you think you are telling me what to do?” she asked, condescendingly.

Squaring up to the woman he despised, Billy lowered his voice and ensured it was heavy with threat, “The man who’ll be destroying your precious BMW with that pool cue if you do not take over the bar right now, you stupid bitch.”

The pair stared at each other, neither backing down as Billy jerked his head in George’s direction, who looked about ready to pass out.

“Fine. But you’re on thin fucking ice, asshole.” She whispered venomously, “ _I_ run this bar, not you. Next time, maybe try asking nicely. I would’ve said yes - I’m not heartless.”

They remained glaring at each other for a moment longer, before Billy nodded, “Whatever, thank you.” changing his tone to mimic gratitude, “Really, I appreciate it.”, and he turned to George, walking him outside slowly.

 

Standing under the murky, ink black sky, Billy pulled out a smoke from his pocket, looking around him, now feeling bizarrely protective of the man who was around thirty years his senior. Mr Brown was shaking, staring into space his lips moving but not saying a word.

“Who was that on the phone?”

“The… woman from Complex Cases.” George replied, eyes glazed.

“Complex Cases?” Billy asked, lighting the smoke and passing it to George - pretty much the only thing he could think of to do to show he cared.

The man took it graciously and breathed in deep, “Yes. They oversee challenging patients across the hospital and entire state - at least, that’s what they said anyway.”

“So, what did they say? If you don’t mind me asking?”

Billy regretted his question as he watched Georges big eyes well up with tears again. A drunk stranger sniggered from the carpark, giving the pair the finger and furiously, Billy grabbed a bottle from the floor and lobbed it hard in his direction, smirking as it clipped the bastard on the shoulder. “They said… Shit. Beth - she tried to kill herself.”

“What? Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry.” Billy replied, his heart falling straight onto the ground.

“She was recovering from surgery and apparently… she ligatured with some headphone cables she’d stolen from another patient.”

Unsure what to do, Billy squeezed Georges shoulder the same way the man did for him, and remained listening, trying to shut away the strange pins and needles sensations that were returning. His friend was sobbing now and Billy gave in, throwing his smoke to the floor and holding the big man against him, wondering why the worst things seemed to happen to the most undeserving of people. They stood for a little while in the cold, night air before Billy spoke, “Did she survive?”

“Yeah, just about. She’s under sectioning rules now.” Mr Brown said as he pulled away from Billy’s embrace, returning to his cigarette, staring at the surrounding woodland. “Dr Simmons has said that Beth has refused visitation from me - that for some reason, Bethany, my wife, thinks I did this to her, so the ward won’t let me near her for another week. I can’t… I can’t see her, Billy. She’s dying and I can’t…”

Furious at the world and glaring at an aeroplane slowly moving across the wretched sky, Billy flexed his hands. “Did they give you any other information?”

“No, just the usual ‘mental illness’ jargon. I don’t understand most of it.” The man sighed.

“Did they say anything about other visitors?” He asked, still not looking at George.

“No, just that I couldn’t go.”

“so, in theory, I could go see her?”

Stunned, George lowered the smoke from his lips to look at Billy who refused to look at him, “What? Why?”

“Could I go see her?” Hargrove pushed, his voice clear and empty, “I dunno, make sure she is okay, bring her flowers or some shit.”

Touched, George looked at the same aeroplane Billy was before replying, “In theory, yes. They haven’t said anything about visiting times, but she’s still in the general wards intensive care following yesterday’s surgery. As far as I am aware, you can still visit until 10pm.”

Billy listened to the crisp and harsh fall wind rubbing the leaves in the trees together, and lowered his head before returning to George and looking him in the eyes, “Right. Okay. If you want to write a letter for her, do it now. I’ll take it with me.”

The man before him looked emotional, still in shock as he stammered, “You’re gonna go?”

“Yup.”

“What if they stop you?”

Billy snorted loudly and tied his hair up, “I’d like to see them try, and besides, as far as we’re aware, they have no grounds to. She isn’t in the psychiatric ward at the minute and no night guard is really gonna give a crap.”

“But what about tonight - with…”

Rolling his eyes in frustration, Billy sighed, “Well, he’s just going to have to put on his big boy pants and come with me, or wait for another fucking day to ‘talk’.”

George squeezed Billy’s wrist firmly, “You really don’t have to.”

“I do, trust me.” He replied, not looking at the man as he opened the door for him, stepping back into the noisy bar and slipping off his apron, replacing it with his denim jacket. Reaching up to hang the apron on a tall hook, it was then Billy caught sight of Steve as he walked into the room. Christ alive, his hair was perfect, he thought to himself but that was the last ounce of attention he truly gave him, absentmindedly signalling for the guy to wait as he followed George into the back office.

There the man handed him his letter with a shaking hand, biting back tears as he hugged Billy, who held George’s hand tight before slipping the letter into his back pocket. Leaving the hurting Mr Brown in the office, Billy sped out the door, walking straight past Steve as he said “You, come with me.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, bemused.

Billy didn’t slow, he just raised his voice, gesturing to the door, “Now! We have to go.”

Irritated and confused, Harrington held his hands to the side, face screwed up, “Wait a sec, I’ve just walked what - two fucking miles to get here, and now-”

“Just shut up and _move!”_ Hargrove said sternly, seizing Steve’s wrists and hauling him out of the door and into the night.

Once outside, Steve yanked his hand away, shoving Billy almost into a car, “What the fuck, man! Hold up. Where are we going?”

Rolling his eyes and continuing to walk ahead, Billy replied without looking back, “The hospital.”

“You’re joking.” Steve said, aghast, hands in his hair as he yelled after Billy, “You’re kidding me right now? That’s a forty five minute walk _if_ we're fast, are you on something?”

Stopping in the street, Hargrove spun around and pointed to the road, “Well then go _home!”_ he snapped before walking in the opposite direction.

Swearing and looking around him in frustration, Steve kicked a bottle hard across the car park and chased after Billy, “Wait a fucking minute, what’s going on?”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

“But-”

“You coming or what, because I really don’t have time for this ‘pity me’ bullshit.” Billy said, harshly, trying to focus on his mission and not how good Steve smelled as the breeze blew in his direction.

“Fine, whatever, chill out.” Harrington replied, moodily, wrapping his scarf around his neck again, “Is it important?” he asked, cautiously, trying to get a glimpse of the man’s face as he stared dead ahead.

“Very.” Billy replied, planting a hand behind Steve’s back and shoving him forwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it is thursday and I have finally made it to sorting out these notes.
> 
> So here I did a double chapter to allow the two storylines to run alongside each other. I have -never- written anything in the way I wrote this, I would rival this to writing my dissertation for the preparation that was needed. I wanted to go into depth how Mr Brown was feeling because I wanted to show the human tragedy associated with the return of the Upside Down, because this time around, there WILL be casualties. I used the Billy, Steve and Dustin storyline to break up the Brown's Hellscape, not only to ease the mood but also to give some indication for how this shit is gonna catch them offguard. 
> 
> Dustin, oh my boy. He is going to become increasingly more flawed/human as this work goes on. The passing/redistribution of blame/responsibility is a huge theme here, and Dustin is trapped doing what all of us do; trying to validate his decisions/actions by looking at the flaws in others. He tries but he cannot get it right, so when he finds out more flaws on Billy's end, Hargrove becomes a perfect scapegoat. Dustin is also prone to minimising Steve's feelings when he doesn't know what to do with them, or when he doesn't like what they mean. He doesn't want his friend to be the bad guy, doesn't want his friend to have been enabled by Dustin's actions so he keeps telling Steve to not worry about it, in the hope that if he doesn't feel bad, Dustin will have done nothing wrong. And here we have a subtle example of 'victim blaming' - problem is, everyone's a bit of a victim in this and everyone is certainly a bad guy.
> 
> Steve is doing the same, blaming Dustin for getting him into this situation, but what Steve continually doesn't acknowledge is how he just cannot say no. Even though he blames himself for what he has done and what happened, he piles onto Billy that he was forced into it. Thing is, whilst Billy DID force him, Steve could've done a million and one things to have not engaged with Hargrove, but he didn't because at his core, he wanted to do them. Billy's harassment really just provided Steve with the perfect excuse. Even so, Steve should never have been forced into that corner. He is coming face to face now with a masochist who is desperate, self destructive and has zero consideration for Steve's boundaries, for who Harrington is going to have to learn to hold his fort strong to avoid further exploitation. His walls are going to have to be thick as fuck to keep Billy's worst tendencies at bay.
> 
> Billy... Ah shit, well, I can't discuss too much without giving some things away, but he is having a real shit time. He blames himself brutally, but he is also slave to his headmate. He wants to do the right thing, but he has no idea what that is in the slightest. For him, self destruction, punishment and self hatred seem to equal taking responsibility and accepting fault, but none of that is. Taking action to repair your behaviour is true responsibility but he is not there yet. Still in the mindset of "I've suffered, I've hurt myself for it, I hate myself for it, I am fucking scum, so y'know, it's over now." and he has yet to learn the consequences of his actions go beyond his self hatred and it will take way more than proving you're in pain to sort that shit out. As we are going to see though, he is losing control over reality and it's only gonna get worse.
> 
> This theme of scapegoating and passing blame is also evident in the story of The Brown's. Brought in with Kevin, Dr simmons and the suited mans continual insistence that this is all Beths issue and all the decisions are on Mr Brown. They have set it up so if anything happens to Beth, Mr Brown is going to blame himself for his choices. They use mental health as a scapegoat, shaping and framing beth to be dangerous and mentally unwell, but the truth behind it is a lot more sinister. We see with Kevin and Dr Simmons the further impact of these mindgames, and arg. Its just gonna be hell for a while.
> 
> Thank you for those who made it to the end of this chap, it was a marathon, probably not helped by these notes.
> 
> Love you all, and hello new readers <3
> 
> Kit


	14. Date Night: Pt 1.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally on their 'not-date', Steve tries to coax from Billy an explanation for their sudden trip to the hospital. Annoyed, Hargrove does his best to explain but the cold gets the better of Steve who hails down a cab, and so commences a very awkward taxi ride to the other side of town, during which Harrington learns about the so-called 'Superflu'. Furious and feeling tricked, Steve lays into Billy about the whole stupid night but Hargrove is committed, shrugging off the man's concerns and marching straight to the front desk to try and charm his way to Mrs Brown. From the sidelines, Steve watches as Billy's flirtation falls short and discovers a shifty looking man who overhears their discussion. As a fight begins between the middle-aged receptionist and Hargrove, Steve tries a different tact - one that is met with success. Finally past the front desk, Steve tries to go over a P.O.A with Billy who couldn't care less. Frustrated, Steve sticks to his plan to interrogate the suspicious man from earlier in which he starts to get the full picture. Confused and freaking out, he rounds on Billy who is now too preoccupied admiring Steve to be of any help whatsoever.
> 
> Part 1 of 3.

Stumbling, Steve fell away from Billy and regained his footing, scowling behind him at the man on a mission. Pulling his scarf over his nose, he thundered alongside him, grumbling as he tried to protect himself from the worst of the cold wind. Usually, September in Hawkins was reasonably pleasant, yet somehow the temperature had dropped massively following Augusts heatwave and Steve loathed it. He hated the cold and the lack of sun left him moodier than usual. There were some positives he had to admit; getting snug on the sofa, burying his hands into Fudge’s warm fur whilst being draped in his autumn throws was a big one for sure, but this walk… this wholly unnecessary walk, was bullshit. 

Dark, brown eyes scanning the sepia road in front of him, Steve tried to imagine what was so damned important that Hargrove of all people was this intent on getting to the hospital, but his mind kept coming up blank. He hadn’t imagined Billy to really give a crap about anyone and yet here he was, turning down drinks to walk miles from his work, in the fucking cold, on a Monday. He couldn’t hold back any longer, Steve needed an explanation.

“Come on then, tell me. What’s so important?”

He watched the man roll his shoulders over, not looking at him as he spoke, “It’s a favour, for a friend.”

“A friend - you have friends?” Steve snorted, rudely.

“Fuck you.” Billy replied, glaring into the distance. 

“Whatever, man.” Steve said with a smirk, hands raised, “Can’t it wait though? It’s a pretty big ask to go this late. Did you even mention that you had plans?”

Billy rolled his eyes, “No it can’t wait, and yes I did. It’s not like he asked me to go.”

Feeling bizarrely offended, Steve poked his nose out from the scarf, his breath visible in front of him, “Wait, so you’re saying you  _ volunteered _ to go on this stupid trip, unprompted, despite being already busy?”. Billy said nothing as he rounded a corner, lips drawn into a thin line, “Look, if you didn’t want to do this thing tonight, you could’ve at least-”

“It’s got nothing to do with that, nothing to do with you.” The man replied, restrained.

“Well then, why cou-”

“Because it’s  _ important.”  _ Billy shouted behind him, flicking the collar up on his jacket angrily.

“Why? What’s going on?” 

“Mr Brown’s wife just tried to kill herself. Happy now?”

Oh fuck. Steve didn’t know this ‘Mr Brown’, nor was he particularly good at this whole empathy thing, but he’d been very close to suicide himself and he knew it was no joke. “Shit.” He said eventually, cheeks burning.

“Yeah shit. Is that a good enough reason for you?”

Guilt snaked its way around Steve’s gut and he looked down at the floor, kicking leaves to the side as he did, “Yeah - no, sorry. Is she okay?”

The man sighed, “I don’t know. They won’t let him see her and all we know is she’s in that hospital, most likely dying.”

Steve squinted into the darkness, “Wait, dying? I thought she survived? How can you be sure?”

“She was getting sick fast before the - the incident. I don’t know the full story - Hell, George doesn’t know the full story. No one does. But, until I can tell George that his wife is okay, that poor asshole is going to be expecting the worst. Alone.”

Taken aback by Billy’s compassion and thoughtfulness, Steve sped up again to walk next to him, flitting his eyes to the side to try and see his face. “Why can’t George visit her - I mean, surely he should be allowed, being her husband and all.”

“Some doctor on the ward from this weird specialist team overseeing her case said Mrs Brown believes George did this to her.” 

Steve winced as he noticed the man’s expression grow pained. Crap, this really  _ was _ big. “Did he?” he asked, hands in his pockets.

“The man I know? Hell no.” Billy responded, voice tinged with irritation.

“So why would the doctor say that?”

“I don’t  _ know!  _ This is why I am going to the fucking hospital!”

Steve flinched again, “Yeah, right, sure, sorry.”

Doing his best to hold back from his questioning, Steve thought hard. He was still pissed at the change of plans but he could understand a bit of what Billy meant by important. Cars sped past them on the busy highway and Steve frowned as he felt the lick of freezing mist tickle his cheeks. Damn - that’s my hair fucked, he thought to himself as he tried to figure out how to stay dry. Inspired, he hung back.

“What’re you doing?” Billy asked, annoyed.

Looking over his shoulder and down the road, Steve leaned over, spotting a cab and hailing it down with an almost numb hand. 

“Can we just-”

“Do you want to get there or not? It’s cold and damp, I’ve walked enough for today but if you need to go, we may as well catch a ride.”

Billy stared at Steve, surprised, “Is it really necessary?”

“Nope, but it’s the only way I’m gonna come with you.” He replied as the taxi pulled over and lowered the window. “Hawkins General please - Yes, main entrance.”

“I don’t have any-”

“I do,” Steve said impatiently as he opened the door, “Get in before I go home.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kareem had seen just about everything during his career as a cab driver, so he was unphased as the big guy with the rolling hair was pushed harshly into the backseat by the slightly smaller man hiding himself under a ridiculous number of layers. He peered through the rear view mirror and tried to imagine the chain of events that led them to his car, something he did just to make the time pass faster. Grinning as a few ideas sprung to mind, he waited for the pair to adjust themselves, noticing how both of them seemed to press their bodies against their respective windows, refusing to look at each other. 

He turned to face them, his elbow smacking the many chains hanging from the mirror as he buried a chuckle, “Y’all ready?” he asked, watching the dark haired guy jolt back to attention.

“Yeah, sorry, thank you for waiting.” He replied before returning to glare out of the window. 

This had to involve a girlfriend of sorts. No, maybe a wife? Neither wore a ring but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Fiance, yes, better. “No problem man, hospital main entrance, yes?”

“Yeah, thank you.” The man replied, slumping further into the seat, pulling his deep blue scarf over his nose. Facing the road again, Kareem flipped the indicator and as he waited for an opportunity to pull out, he watched the blonde haired one through the mirror trying to avoid looking at the other. That guy appeared  _ pained _ , worried even but unbeknown to the man having the sulk, this guy seemed to secretly be monitoring his moods. Okay so, scarf guy is the one wronged maybe? And blondie here did the deed and is presently squirming inside out of guilt, fearful for the future of their friendship. 

Wheel rotating, he turned the radio down and checked the time on the dashboard. Almost 8pm, almost game time. Shifting in his seat with excitement, Kareem side-eyed the tray of pastries sitting on the seat next to him, dark skinned hands gripping the wheel with anticipation before turning his attention to the two in the back. 

“What happened? Patrick Swayze here nail your fiance, huh?”

His question had the desired effect, smiling as he watched the bigger guy stare harder out of the window and the mom of the pair narrow his eyes at the other. “Totally. Killed my cat too.”

Laughing now, he changed lanes and continued to observe the two, allowing the story to grow in his head. “In all seriousness though,” Kareem began, waving to another cab driver out of his window, “What brings you to the hospital this evening?”.

He smiled with delight as the guy in the denim jacket perked up, “Besides the dick rotting disease his woman gave me? A good friend is very ill.”

“Is that right? I’m sorry to hear it.” Kareem replied, trying to remain polite, biting back a snigger as he watched the brown haired man glare daggers at the other. “Your friend - what’s wrong with them, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

“No idea.” “I don’t know.” The pair said in unison before looking at each other again.

Interesting. “Anything to do with the apparent ‘superflu’ that’s moved into town? Traffic around the entry ring-road has been peppered with vehicles of all sorts. Nightmare to get in nowadays.”

“Flu?” The blonde haired guy said, his face puzzled.

“Yeah, that’s what the folks at the office said -  _ ‘some gnarly, foreign influenza/black plague mash-up’  _ I think was their exact words.”

Kareem watched as the dark haired one rolled his eyes, looking at his friend in disbelief before containing his reactions, seeing that the other guy was very serious.

“My friend - the one whose wife we’re gonna see, said there was a viral outbreak up there, said it was big. She’s a nurse and she’d told him she’s never seen anything like it before.”

Turning to face blondie properly now, the other guy stared at him incredulously, “Wait, so there’s this fucking superflu up there, that  _ you _ know about and you’re  _ still _ going up there?! Don’t you think that’s something I would’ve liked to have  _ known _ before agreeing to come with you?”

“Never thought about it to be honest,” Blondie said as the other sunk into his seat, “I didn’t think it was that much of a big deal.”

_ “Some gnarly, foreign influenza/black plague mash-up…”  _ the man groaned, hands running down his face in frustration, “Not a big deal - right.”

“Well I didn’t know that, did I? It’s not on the news or anything, we’re probably going to be fine. The fatalities only-”

“Probably?  _ Fatalities?!  _ Fuck me. So now it’s a killer superflu.”

“Look, it can’t be that bad.” Kareem began, catching in the mirror the pair looking at him confused at his intrusion, he continued anyway, “Think about it. If it was  _ bad _ bad, there would be a large quarantine - full hospital shut down, helicopters, military - the whole shabang… hell, even the press as Brad Pitt here’s already said. No signs of CDC so it’s all good, right? I’ve seen enough of those films to know how it goes. Providing it’s not airborne you’ll be fine, besides it’s probably just here-say” He concluded, checking the time again on his dashboard as he turned onto the bypass.

“Yeah sure, here-say.”

“You can still bail if you want - I’m not forcing you to do anything here, quit making out like you’re being played.”

“I’m not, I just… like to know what I’m getting into, y’know? Like a normal fucking person.”

The pair resumed their glaring match and Kareem paused, unsure quite what to do, “So… We still on for the hospital?” He tried.

“Yes.” “Keep going.” 

“He must’ve really done a number on your wife, Jesus Christ.” He said, shaking his head as the tension rose.

“She’ll never want another man - I guarantee you.” Blondie replied with a snort, smiling wickedly at the other who turned his back on him, fiddling with his scarf.

Pulling out onto the entry road outside the hospital, Kareem changed gear and grinned to himself. Providing the traffic kept moving, he may be able to make the first part of the game and then those cinnamon swirls were all his. Scratching his blonde and black afro, he tore his gaze away from the sugary goodies sitting staring up at him and resumed conversation, “We’ll be there in a moment, how long are y’gonna be?”

“Why?” The pissed off guy in the long coat asked.

“Chill out man, I only ask ‘cuz if you’re not gonna be long, I can wait. Do the return.”

Kareem watched blondie’s eyes scream  _ ‘come on dude, say yes,’  _ and waited for the man’s reply. “Fine, sure, sorry.”

“Cheers.”

Brilliant. His date with sports radio confirmed, he pulled in through the entrance and made his way through the busy car park. “I’ll be in the short stay area, y’see - there - Bay 3.” Kareem said, pointing through the slightly clouded windows to a large sign in the distance.

The pair nodded, but once again, grumpy guts piped up, “Wait - the meter won’t be kept running, will it?”

Blondie rolled his eyes as Kareem replied, “Nah man, no. Don’t worry, I have my reasons for kicking about. You’ll just be charged when y’get back in.”

“Sure, okay, thanks. Right, you good to go?”

“Yup.”

“Good luck with your friend, yeah? Don’t let anyone bite you, y’know, zombies and all.”

Laughing melodically, the big guy opened his door, “I won’t, thank you Mr Phoenix.” He said with a playful smirk. 

_ Finally _ , a reference! Grinning back to the man leaning through the window, Kareem slipped a smoke out of the glove box, “In a while, Mr Emerson.” he replied and burst out laughing as the guy clapped his hands, pointing a finger at him as he turned to leave.

“You Sir, have good taste.”

And that was it. The pair wandered off to stand under the main entrance canopy and Kareem watched as the Michael lookalike stretched casually while the other rummaged in his pockets. Smiling, he pulled away and navigated through the car park, smoke hanging out of his mouth as he turned the radio up. Finally. Engine off now, Kareem lowered his seat and reclined blissfully, blindly groping in the dark for a pastry and closing his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Retreating into the shadows by a poorly trimmed bush, Steve slipped a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. Fucking superflu. Of course. Somewhere in the more reptilian parts of his brain, he hoped Mrs Brown’s case really was as simple as suicide but he shut the thought down promptly, momentarily repulsed at his coldness. Peering under his bangs, Steve watched as Billy took a leaf out of his book, staring into a crumpled Marlborough carton before snarling as he threw it onto the floor. This pleased Steve greatly and with a smug smile, he offered one of his to Billy.

“Menthol? Seriously?” The man asked, lip curling in disgust.

“It’s this or nothing, you can always go without.” He replied, still maintaining that smirk. Reluctantly, Billy snatched one from the carton and turned away from the wind to spark up. “So, what was that about?”

“Hmm?” Billy murmured, still trying to catch a light.

“Mr Phoenix? Mr Emerson?”

Frustratingly, the man burst out laughing, smoke curling out of his nose, “Demolition Man - You’ve seen it, right?”

Steve blinked at Billy, “Uh, no.”

“Jesus, what about Lost Boys?”

“No, heard of it, never seen it.” Steve replied, a little annoyed that this was so funny.

Sniggering, Billy held his smoke between thumb and forefinger, looking at the amber glow, “You’ve some serious educating you need to do, Harrington. Never seen Lost Boys, fucking hell”.

Steve watched as the man turn to face the sky, restless on his feet and working his way through that cigarette at a record pace. Was he nervous? What the hell does he have to be nervous about? Shrugging the thought away, Steve continued to smoke his before breaking the silence, “Right, so, the plan.”

“What plan?”

“Y’gotta have a plan, idiot.”

“Oh really?” Billy enquired, sarcastically.

“Well, yeah, what were you expecting to do? I mean what if it all goes to hell and we can’t see her, y’know? You’ve gotta think these things through.” Steve said, flicking the ash away from his smoke and as Billy remained silent, he continued, “Right, we go in there, find Mrs Brown, give her this letter, maybe smile a bit and get out - that’s the idea right?”

“Yup.” The man said, flicking his spent smoke into the road.

“Okay, what do we do if we can’t get in? Like, what if there is no visitation, it’s not as if it’s been confirmed that we can get to see her.”

Lazily, Billy tilted his head to look at Steve, clearly agitated, “We’ll get in.”

“How can you be sure? They  _ can _ deny you, y’know.”

Steve watched as the guy shrugged and undid his jacket, “do you  _ like _ being stressed, Steve? Because it’s certainly starting to look that way. Stop overthinking. We’ll find a fucking way, you done?”

Nodding, Steve flicked his smoke onto the road by Hargrove’s and with his hands buried in his pockets again, he followed the man into the reception area. At least I tried, he reassured himself as they walked over to the woman sitting behind the desk. I tried and when he fails, I will have the biggest ‘i told you so’ ready. Asshole.

  
  


The lady at the desk was visibly tired. Late forties, hair pinned back in a messy bun with bags under her eyes so large, they could carry a weeks worth of groceries. It was clear to Steve that this woman was in no mood to play. A polite and civil approach was needed for this but before he could open his mouth to speak, Billy took over, leaning over the desk and smiling like a cat. Well that’s that then, we’re fucked. Unable to watch the impending catastrophe, Steve looked around the waiting area that joined onto the ER, tensing as he recalled the last time he was in here. This was surreal. Steve had been admitted to hospital four times in his life which was pretty good going in his opinion, but on two of those occasions, he was in here because of Hargrove - the man trying to terribly flirt his way into a psychiatric ward. Life was fucking weird.

“Good evening, how may I help you today?” The woman began, her voice dry.

“We’ve come to see a friend - well she’s family really - she was admitted yesterday.” Billy replied, ensuring his chest was positioned perfectly. I can’t watch, I can’t fucking watch, Steve thought to himself, hands gripping his lighter tightly in the pockets they hid in.

The woman looked blankly at Hargrove, pausing for a moment, eyes moving to the necklace dangling over the desk before turning to the screen, “Right. Name please?”

“Bethany Brown.”

As the woman typed away, Steve looked behind the pair to the room behind them, watching jealously as various staff members on their break enjoyed a coffee. He considered for a moment just ditching Billy and wandering over there to beg for a caffeine fix but before he could pursue the dream further, Steve noticed a rather dull looking, ginger haired man pause mid conversation, mug lowered as he turned his head to look at the front desk. Steve looked away slowly, curious as to what caught his attention.

“Her husband has charged me with delivering this letter in his absence” He heard Billy say, hand slipping into his back pocket to pull out the note, holding it between two fingers, “It’s almost romantic.” 

Eyes rolling up into the ceiling, Steve exhaled through pursed lips as the woman replied just as he’d anticipated. “I’m sure it is,” she said, disinterested, eyes still fixed on the screen, “I can’t seem to find her on record. When was she admitted again?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“No, still no sign of her. Are you sure it was  _ this _ hospital and not St Andrew’s”

“Positive” Billy replied, confusion evident in his voice. Steve braved it and looked beyond the pair at the man with the terrible tie and coffee cup  _ still _ looking in Billy’s direction. “She was admitted for psychological distress, overworked to the point of breaking. A struggle I’m sure we can all appreciate.” 

Kill me now, Steve thought to himself as the receptionist looked at her harrassor with weary, unimpressed eyes. 

“Maybe you understand more than most - she used to work here, it’s gotta be draining.”

The woman continued her deadpan stare, tapping her nails on the mouse to subdue her frustration, eyebrow cocked as she spoke again, “Psychiatric ward, one moment.” The receptionists hands were a blur across the keyboard and as she squinted through her narrow glasses, Steve kept his eyes fixed on the man in the back room, both now poised for some reason, neither moving until the woman spoke again. “Bethany Brown, fifty-six years old, admitted for sudden onset psychosis, severe self harm and violent behaviour.”

“That’s the one.” Billy replied, relieved.

“I’m sorry, there’s no visitation at present.”

Now it was the ginger idiots turn to be momentarily relieved. Steve thought hard, growing increasingly certain this guy recognised Mrs Brown’s case and tried to get Billy’s attention. Futile. The man was in his own world.

“But she’s supposed to be in intensive care at the minute, visitation doesn’t end until 10pm.”

“I appreciate that, Sir, but her records say ‘No visitors permitted.” The receptionist replied, impatiently.

It was then the shaking guy met Steve’s gaze and Harrington watched as he almost dropped his coffee. Eyebrows furrowed, Steve folded his arms and followed the man with his eyes as he put the cup down and tried to dab at the minor spillage on his shirt, every now and then glancing over his shoulder to see if Steve was still looking.

“It’s just to deliver this letter and feedback to her husband, who may I add, is on the verge of drinking himself into oblivion. In and out - five minutes tops.” Billy pushed, growing heated.

The receptionist matched his tone, the skin on her forehead creasing with the force of her glare, “And I’m telling you -  _ Sir _ \- the system says ‘No visitors’. It’s signed by a different organisation. It’s out of my hands.”

“Why? What the hell’s going on? This isn’t common procedure and _ you _ know it.” He asked, cockily raising an eyebrow almost as a challenge, forcing the woman to snap.

Spinning the monitor around, the now furious lady slammed a thick finger onto the screen, “You see this? It doesn’t matter what procedure is, I  _ cannot  _ let you see her.”

Walking from the futile negotiation, Steve slowly manoeuvred his way through the small crowd around the desk, eyes fixed on the stranger who was busy trying to scurry back to wherever he’d come from. It was obvious he was trying to ignore him - trying to pretend that Steve hadn’t spotted his alarmed reactions, and that just made him more suspicious. Pausing by a drinking fountain, Harrington pretended to look at his watch, letting his hair drape over his eyes so he could watch the man walk into an office door, unseen. Nodding to himself, he made his way back to the commotion kicking off at the front desk.

“The woman’s just tried to  _ kill herself _ .” He heard Billy seethe in hushed tones, “She’s alone, scared and who knows what else. Are you  _ that heartless?” _

Oh shit. Steve couldn’t work out if he’d made it back at the best possible time or the worst, either way, it was a showdown and Billy was about to get his ass handed to him.

Slowly rotating the screen back around with lips pursed together tightly, the middle aged woman stood to face him, back straightening as she took a sip from a water bottle. She reverently did up the cap before looking him square in the eyes, “Sir, I have been at this desk for eleven hours now. Eleven  _ fucking _ hours. This is my sixth shift in a row. I am so tired, suicide seems like a welcomed relief because I know at the end of this shift, I have four shitty kids to go back to and a house to clean, all the while my stupid, good-for-nothing husband is gonna be sitting on his ass _ , seemingly incapable  _ of lifting a finger to help. It’s not heartlessness, oh good Samaritan, it’s the  _ rules.  _ They don’t bend.”

Skidding to Billy’s side, he tried to distract the man but it was hopeless and Steve was left looking in despair at the crowd pretending to not to have seen them. Yup, totally inconspicuous. 

“I have managers who get paid more than I ever will in my entire life, who do fuck all work, breathing down my neck and monitoring my every move. If I let you through, I lose my job. If i lose my job my income stops. If my income stops, that means I am tied to my useless, manchild husband for eternity. 

As much as I empathise with your friends situation, I am losing my patience, which is impressive considering I usually consider that one of my strengths. This… show of yours isn’t going to work. I’ve had junkies put on a more charming act, now if you wouldn’t fucking mind, kindly  _ leave!”  _

Steve watched as Billy’s mouth opened and he forcefully grabbed his shoulder, twisting him around to face him, dark eyes narrowed and glaring straight at him. The man returned the stare, livid at his intrusion but Steve didn’t falter, choosing instead to dig his nails into the muscle around the man’s clavicle until he winced and backed down. Raising a hand to the receptionist apologetically, he yanked Billy to the side and hissed through gritted teeth, “Calm  _ down!” _

“But the bitch-” Billy began, holding his smarting shoulder.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up. There was  _ always _ gonna be a chance that we wouldn’t make it in - that this wouldn’t work, right? Let me try something. I spotted a guy who may know something.”

“Whaddya mean, ‘a guy’” The man snarled, moodily

“Exactly that,” Steve replied, taking full authority now, “Some sad sap who all but shit his pants when he heard Mrs Brown’s name - saw him run off when he noticed I was looking. He may know where she is.”

“But the iron hag isn’t gonna let us pass, is she? Not now.”

Steve clipped Billy around the ear, unphased by the man’s hands now balling into fists, “Maybe not you, idiot. Just let me try.”

“What the hell are you gonna do? What are you gonna try that I haven’t?”

“Just… Shut up. Don’t say anything. Try and be invisible, maybe look apologetic.”

“What the f-”

_ “Shut it!”  _ Steve said, pointing at Billy. “I’m trying to help you, you fucking tool. Zip it. Mouth closed. Not another damned word, got it?”

The pair stared at each other, Billy’s chest rising and falling with frustration but it was Steve’s calmness that won it. The man gave in, nodding and throwing his hands in the air to which Steve thanked him, turning back around and waiting in line again for the receptionist.

 

* * *

 

 

He wasn’t going to kid himself - that did  _ not  _ go the way Billy had hoped, in fact the whole thing was just embarrassing. He used to be so good at charming his way in anywhere and even though he knew it was years ago since the last time he’d tried it, it had never really gone that badly. Was it his age? A lot had changed since he reached his late twenties, but if he was honest, Billy simply didn’t remember that much of the past ten years, so maybe he really  _ had _ lost his game and just never noticed. 

Pride wounded, he did his best to keep his head down as per Steve’s instructions, examining the creases in his Doc Martens, trying to see if there were any faces in there today. The bastard currently twisting the buttons on his coat stood no chance against the battleaxe at the desk. Billy had seen no evidence of any real charisma there since their reintroduction in July and he wondered whether the curse of ‘adulthood’ had caught him too. In a way, Billy hoped it hadn’t. He’d kinda liked Steve’s old ego and the idea that it could be gone for good - crushed out of him by the endless responsibilities that swallow you as you reach thirty - was depressing. Hell, everything was depressing. 

As they reached the desk again, Billy heard the woman groan loudly and he straightened himself, almost biting his lip to keep quiet as he heard the stupid bitch speak. “What?” She asked in a low voice.

“Hey, I’m so sorry for my idiot friend, he’s not entirely all ‘there’ if you catch my drift and he’s just worried for Mrs Brown.” Steve said apologetically, glancing over at Billy who widened his eyes angrily before staring at the fire exit sign, fists tightening so much his nails dug into his palm. 

“Yes, well, be that as it may, he’s still not visiting her - neither of you are.” The woman replied, suspicious.

“No, I totally understand. Rules are rules, don’t worry - I’ll get him out of your hair in a moment, I was just going to ask where the nearest restroom is. I’ve been on my damned feet all day, trekking over here from the bowling alley to keep this one out of trouble and I haven’t stopped since what, eight this morning.” Billy pursed his lips into a thin line, exhaling slowly to bury down his gut reaction to slam the fuckers head into the desk, sniffing as he did his best to do as he was told. “The hospital is literally the last place I want to be. I tried telling him that we wouldn’t get in, but as you can see, he isn’t the listening type.”

The receptionist laughed heartily, looking mockingly at Billy whose temper was climbing through the roof, “No, he isn’t is he? Still thinks he’s a teenager, right?”

“You know the deal.” Steve replied, jokingly, joining the lady with the patronising laugh. Fuck this, Billy thought to himself walking away to sit on a chair in the waiting area, still listening.

“The bowling alley you say? Planet Bowl, right? By the mall?” The woman asked, leaning back in her desk chair. 

“Uhuh, that’s the one.”

“That’s three  _ miles _ away, you walked all this way - for him?” She asked, looking over at Billy and back to Steve in shock.

Sighing, Steve nodded, “Yes, well, I had to walk to Quarry’s End first, like another forty-five minutes in the other direction to go meet his ass for drinks, only to find out that no, no drinks. Spontaneous trip to the hospital.”

“Y’serious? I think I’d drop after the first mile if I’m honest.”

“Well, usually I wouldn’t bother with all this - not at all, but it clearly meant a lot to him. He doesn’t have many friends so knowing one of them… y’know… of course he wanted to come. Not exactly gonna kick off about that.”

Billy felt the pairs pitying eyes bore into his skull and he swore under his breath. Cheeky motherfucker! Lying, manipulative  _ cunt! _

“No, no - of course. Gosh.” The woman began, covering her mouth “That was a selfless thing to do, you know that? I’m sorry I can’t help you more.”

“That’s no problem, ma’am, these things happen.” Steve replied smartly, and Billy shook his head as he looked over at him, trying to imagine all the horrible ways he could kill him with the chair he was sitting on.

“Wait a moment, do I - Mr Harrington isn’t it?”

“That’s me” Steve replied with a warm smile.

“I thought I recognised you - manager now, I hear.”

“Yeah, it’s just work from the moment I wake up to the moment I collapse into bed.” Steve said, rubbing the back of his head.

Billy stared in amazement at the receptionist who was now leaning in over the desk, looking up at Steve like he was some… some normal fucking person, smiling as she also talked to him like a normal fucking person. What the -  _ How?  _

“My daughters and I go every Thursday - without the husband of course. You’ve done a wonderful job with the place, the family hours on Thursdays were a great idea. No drunk fools to try and step around.”

Steve looked behind him to Billy, smiling smugly before returning to the receptionist who was almost glowing at this point, “Well, I do what I can. Trust me, I’ve had enough of the rowdy crowd as much as yourselves.”

“He one of them?” She asked, cheerily.

“Oh yes.”

I’m gonna fucking kill him, Billy thought to himself, sinking lower into the chair as Steve continued, “So, is that okay? The restroom? I’m not familiar with the layout here.”

“Oh yeah, of course.” The woman said, moving quickly to her feet, “Follow me.”

Steve shot a stern look to Billy, clicking his fingers for him to follow. Reluctantly, Hargrove stood, trudging behind the two as they rounded the corner.

“You see those doors there? You want the blue one next to the switchboard office. There’s a vending machine and a drinks machine there too in case you need a coffee or something before you leave.”

“Thank you - You’re a lifesaver.” Steve replied, gratefully. 

“It’s no problem, really.” The woman replied, now bordering on bashful.

“The next Thursday you swing by the alley, let the staff at the desk know your name. I’ll ensure your family get a game free of charge.”

Billy’s eyes darted between the two in disbelief, this was fucking witchcraft. 

“You really don’t have to.”

“No, but life's expensive enough as it is. Maybe it’ll give your bank account a break - every penny in the ‘escape the husband’ fund counts, right?” Steve said smoothly, squeezing the woman’s shoulder softly.

“Thank you - a life of freedom and mimosa’s, that’s the dream.” She chuckled with a smile.

“Isn’t it just.” Harrington replied, turning to walk to the restroom, “Good luck with the rest of your shift.” He said finally before jerking his neck to the side, signalling for Billy to catch up. 

  
  


Barging past Steve as he held the door open, Billy thundered into the restroom and kicked the bin hard, the contents spilling over the floor. Steve said nothing and grinned as the door closed behind them. Spitting into the sink angrily, Hargrove marched over to the urinal and unbuckled his belt, not looking at Steve as he unbuttoned his jeans. Fucking… asshole, he murmured under his breath, slipping himself out of his jeans. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the man turn on his heel and peered over at him, face still burning with irritation. 

“What? It’s not like you haven’t seen it before. Grow up.” He goaded, waiting for him to turn around before shaking his head and laughing bitterly as he pissed. “What even was that out there?” Billy continued as he shook himself gently and redressed himself. 

“I could ask you the same fucking question.” Steve replied, seemingly relieved now nobodies cocks were out in the open. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Billy asked as he walked over to the sinks, washing his hands.

“Was that supposed to be  _ flirting?  _ Not everything can be won by flashing your pecs, dipshit.”

“Oh yeah? And I suppose being a kiss-ass and giving out free shit is any better?” 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Steve replied, an eyebrow raised victoriously.

“How did you arrive at that conclusion? In case you haven’t noticed, all that cringefest in there got us was into a stinking restroom.” Billy said, wiping his hands dry on his jacket. He watched as the man laughed that patronising laugh again and Hargrove snarled, “What?”

“Did you even consider that this is where I  _ wanted _ her to take us?”

“What d’you mean?”

Steve shook his head, “Oh my god, okay, right. Firstly, we know there was no way in hell she was gonna tell us where to go, yeah? So there was no point pursuing that avenue, she would have just thrown us both out. Secondly, that guy - do you remember the guy I talked about?”

“Yeah, I remember the guy.” Billy snapped, impatiently.

“Okay, so, I saw him walk into the room just outside of here. The one we now know is the switchboard office.” He paused, waiting for Billy to catch up.

“Yeah, I get it, and what?”

“So…” The man began, before rolling his eyes again, “So, we can go in there, find that ginger fuck and find out where Mrs Brown is. Now we’ve gotten past the gatekeeper, we can go anywhere we like - sort of - without much of an issue. The sooner we get this letter delivered, the sooner we get outta here and maybe, just  _ maybe,  _ we might still have time to get a drink.”

Billy looked at Steve in growing surprise, his irritation fading as gradually it was replaced with momentary respect for the guys quick thinking. He then smiled a knowing smile, lips parting to reveal a small flash of teeth as he inspected his nails, lifted by the man’s final statement, “You’re keen.” He said slyly, looking up from his hands to watch as Steve blushed.

“Hardly. I just refuse to have wasted energy walking to your damned bar on the outside of town and thrown money down the drain on a cab just for a hospital visit that may be a complete fucking failure. One way or another, I’m getting a fucking drink.” Steve responded grumpily, looking at his watch again.

“Whatever you say, cheapskate.” He replied with a smirk. Silence hung in the air as Billy stood surrounded by the contents of the bin he’d attacked a few minutes earlier and he sighed, losing patience again. “So-”

“Just let me do the talking again. These are  _ my _ people.”

“What’s that supposed t-”

“Nothing, I just… I’m a manager. I know how to work these people, okay?”

Billy snorted loudly, returning to his nails, “Right, like that makes any sense.”

“Just let me talk, alright? If it doesn’t work, by all means, terrify the crap outta him, deal?”

“Why is that always what y-”

“Seriously? Do I really need to answer that?” 

The man looked at Billy, who opened his mouth to speak before thinking better of it and sighing loudly instead. “Whatever, fine. But give me some change.”

“Change? Why?” Steve asked, confused.

“For the vending machines. I’m fucking starving - hardly eaten all day.”

Steve raised his eyebrows again, looking to the side in disbelief. “Fine.” He replied, rooting around in his pockets and grabbing whatever coins he could find. “There - Your allowance. Is that enough for you, jackass?”

Relishing in Harrington’s frustration, Billy took his time looking through the change in his hand, making a point of counting it. “It’ll do.” He said, before barging past Steve again and heading straight out the door.

He was already by the vending machine when Steve emerged, his face a picture as he waited for Billy to hurry up. Swallowing a smile, Billy punched the numbers in slowly, trying his best not to look at the man he knew was ready to explode. When that one fell to the bottom compartment, he did it again, this time taking his time to pick the right snack. 

“Are you done? Can we move on now?” Steve asked finally, looking around him in annoyance. Billy said nothing and moved to key in the next numbers, reaching into the draw below to grab the three candy bars. He paused for a minute, before going to select another. “Is this a joke?!” The man behind him shouted and once again, Billy remained silent, grabbing the last bar.

He thrust three into his pockets and tore into the packet of one with his teeth, spitting the scrap of wrapping on the floor and biting straight into it. Billy looked at Steve with feigned innocence as a vein in the guys forehead stood out in anger. “Y’doing this or what?” He finally asked with his mouthful at which point Steve raised a hand, holding it in the air for a moment before slamming it by his sides, swearing loudly to himself, dodging some patients as they walked past. Billy watched with amusement as the man did his best to straighten himself and stood right behind him, lips close to his ear, “Come on then, don’t have all day.” he whispered and he choked on the candy as Steve spun, once again, restraining the fist raised to punch him. 

_ “Shut the fuck up or I swear-” _

“What?” Billy asked, head tilted to the side, playing dumb and chuckling to himself as Steve stormed off into the Switchboard Office. 

 

* * *

 

 

Dread wrapping itself like a noose around his neck, Kevin Northwood paced around the office, still wiping at the stain on his shirt. It was a good shirt, a new one, and he took this as an omen that his evening was about to get considerably worse. The office felt damp, in fact it was damp, the mould on the walls forming grizzly patterns that poked their way from behind ocean view posters and calendar charts. Rocking anxiously on his feet, Kevin took in the scenes, doing his best to remind himself that one day, it would be him on that sun lounger a million miles from this office prison and the stupid amounts of debt following him around.

He breathed through his nose slowly. Mrs fucking Brown. If he didn’t feel deep empathy in his gut for the woman, he would wish her dead so this whole ordeal would be over, but Kevin knew, she was only the start and his purgatory was far from an end. The two men at the desk were determined to see her and he hoped above all hopes that Mrs Gardener had successfully deterred them, but something about the dark haired guy who’d spotted him had him unconvinced. Maybe he wouldn’t pursue him? Maybe he was looking at the tie? Kevin peered down at the hula dancer tie he was wearing and grimaced, instantly regretting picking such a stand-out item of clothing. ‘The Guide To Getting People To Like You” book he’d been studying in the bath the last few nights had advised adding a dash of colour in your wardrobe to show a bit of personality, but he’d never considered it would get him noticed for the wrong reasons. Served him right for trying.

Tapping his fingers against his lukewarm, almost empty coffee cup, Kevin considered calling Dr Simmons to alert her to the pairs curiosity, wondering if it would put him in good stead with the woman but that would mean further contact with her, and the idea made him sick to his stomach. She seemed fascinated with his nervousness; every time Kevin came close to her, the woman would find a way to make him so… scared, that he would spend the rest of his day flinching and refusing to eat. He couldn’t figure out how she did it, only that Dr Simmons was a headworker, and he wondered if he’d get that same skill if he’d pursued psychology in college rather than his ex wife.

His train of thought ground to a halt as his terminally alert ears picked up on voices outside the door. Shit, please no, go away, Kevin prayed, looking at the ripples in his mug caused by his trembling hands. Get it together, Northwood, you’re a grown man -  _ a man - _ grow a pair, he told himself as he braced himself for entry. 

The dark haired man walked in first with a scowl on his face, flicking his scarf over his shoulder so it hit the other guy on the cheek, who followed after him, looking right at Kevin as he chewed on a Mars bar. Kevin immediately looked away from the blonde guy with the feral eyes and tried to be a professional, non-nervous wreck. 

“Hey - uh - you’re not supposed to be in here, it’s staff only.” He watched as a wrapper fell at the blonde man’s feet but still tried to keep his attention on the dark haired one who seemed to hold the authority between the two, even so he couldn’t help but notice the battered, taped-up boots make their way around the room. 

“I didn’t see a sign.” The cold one said, standing straight as he stopped in front of Kevin, “And anyway, we’ll be quick.”

Kevin stepped back accidentally, holding the desk behind him with a clammy hand, “Uh - quick? Quick with what?” The sound of papers rustling pulled his gaze from the man in front of him to the other tearing into another candy bar, pawing through the papers on top of a filing cabinet. 

“Nothing big, just a few questions. In and out, then you can get back to your break, got it? Hey, ignore him.” Flinching, Mr Northwood turned around quickly as the dark haired man clicked his fingers to draw his attention. 

“I, I have to - okay, uh, what questions? Why?” Kevin conceded, pathetically.

The man looked him straight in the eyes and he squirmed, “Mrs Brown.”

“Uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I just man the phones-”

“Bullshit.” The man replied flatly, still maintaining eye contact.

This wasn’t good, this was not good  _ at  _ all. “Huh? What-”

“You heard him asking about her. I watched you - your coffee almost went flying outta your hands when you heard her name, at which point you ran off.” He said, taking a step closer.

Kevin swallowed, “So? That doesn’t mean a-”

“Pure coincidence right?” 

“Uh yes.” He replied, eyes darting around the room.

“Bullshit!” He heard the blonde guy yell from the back of the room through a mouthful of chocolate. Kevin jolted around and saw him sitting on a desk investigating his colleagues collection of Beanie Babies.  

“Okay, humour me then. Why did you bolt?” The dark haired man continued, paying no attention to his companions interruption.

“What? I needed the restroom.” Kevin tried.

“HA!” The blonde guy barked from behind him. 

Kevin watched as the man leading the interrogation shot his head to the side and fired a warning glare at the other, before returning to Mr Northwood. “Well, that’s a lie.”

“Wha-”

“You ran straight in here. Now, unless you prefer pissing in that bin,” He said, pointing at the overflowing waste paper basket by his feet, “then you did not need the restroom, which means you’re lying. Which means you’re guarding something and I’d say, that something pertains to Mrs Brown.”

Swallowing again, Kevin looked at the floor, feeling very cold in his fingers.

“So let’s just drop all that crap and cut to it, shall we? The sooner we get this done, the sooner we go. Where’s Mrs Brown?”

“I… I can’t, I can’t say.” Kevin answered, eyes darting to the other man who was now peering over at him.

“Why not?”

“I - my boss, she-”

“Your boss?”

“Dr Simmons, she’ll-”

“Right,” The man began, rubbing his forehead with the side of his hand, “I don’t know what it is you’re so afraid of here, but let me assure you, this ‘Dr Simmons’ has nothing on this guy.” He said, gesturing to the blonde one who looked taken aback at the reference, pausing mid swallow to raise his eyebrows. “We don’t want any drama, we just wanna know where Bethany Brown is so he can deliver this letter from the woman's mortified husband, and then fuck off home.”

For someone who’d never encountered Dr Simmons, the man in front of him certainly reminded Kevin of her in almost every way, from how he looked at him like he was below him all the way to the continual interruptions. The stronger guy currently stuffing his face was intimidating, but it was the one in front of him that scared him more.

“So? You there? Where is Mrs fucking Brown?”

“Here, the hospital” Kevin blurted out without thinking.

“Yeah, I get that, dumbass.” The man scolded as the other rolled his eyes, swivelling around on the desk to look at the wall posters, “Where in the hospital?”

“There’s a… quarantine. She’s - third floor.”

Kevin heard a thud as the blonde guys boots landed on the floor, having hopped off the desk, eyes narrowed, still chewing on the candy bar, “Why is she-”

“It’s - I can’t talk about it, it’s not safe.”

“Okay, right, so-” The dark haired man began before he was interrupted by the other who was now walking over.

“What’s this quarantine business got to do with Mrs Brown? The quarantine’s for this superflu thing.”

“Superflu?” Kevin asked, confused.

The pair looked at each other puzzled, “Yeah, the supposed tropical outbreak up here.”

“How’d you? It’s uh, it’s not the flu.”

Looking up at the ceiling in frustration, the dark haired one continued, “Not the flu. Right. What the  _ fuck _ is going on? From what I’ve heard, Mrs Brown was admitted to for psychiatric assessment at the ward and is presently sectioned for attempted suicide. At least that’s what this Dr Simmons has told Mr Brown. Now she’s in a fucking quarantine  _ not  _ with this superflu?!”     

“She’ll kill me if I-”

_ “I’ll  _ kill you.” The bigger guy snapped, pushing the other out the way, incensed, another wrapper thrown on the floor, “Where the fuck is Mrs Brown?”       

“The psych wing, there’s a whole unit cordoned off for the quarantine. You’ll never get there.”

“Why?” The other man asked, standing next to the blonde guy having regained his footing.

“They’ve got guards up there… The acute ward always has locked doors and card only access. The only way you’ll get through the entrance to that wing is with a lanyard.” 

“Y’mean, one of those?” The blonde guy asked, pointing to Kevin’s lanyard. All three men looked down at the card and Kevin flinched as the man’s hands curled around it, yanking it from around his neck, breaking the clasp before examining it, eyebrows raised, “Thank you… Kevin,  _ holy shit _ , what did you do to your hair?”

Staring at his partner, strained, the dark haired one shook his head, “Okay, so it’s up to the third floor, psychiatric ward, aim for acute ward and then?” He asked, waving his hands for him to hurry up. 

“Then there should be a closed off area where the old E.D unit used to be. It’ll have these yellow signs on the door and-” Kevin replied, voice shaking as he realised what he’d done.

“Got it.” The man finished, turning to the door to leave, pulling his scarf over his nose.

“You won’t get through security, please… Just, don’t go.” He called after him to which the other guy just raised an eyebrow, shrugged and walked off leisurely behind his apparent handler.

  
  


The door closed slowly behind the pair and Kevin fell back against the desk he was still clutching onto. He was a dead man. He hadn’t meant to tell either of them any of this stuff, but for some reason he couldn’t keep the truth from the man with the dark brown eyes; it was like trying to lie to Dr Simmons and you simply did not lie to the doctor. Shaking with guilt and fear, he gazed again at the wall poster and blinked back the sting of tears as he considered his options.

Kevin could do what his entire body screamed for him to do and keep the whole thing a secret - pretend he knew nothing and see how far that could go. Complex Cases may never know, I mean, how could they? It wasn’t like he was the  _ only _ guy in here who knew where the bio-hazard areas were, but then he remembered the CCTV and choked. Shit. He spun around looking up in the corners of the dingey office room, eyes fixed on the little camera that glinted down at him like an executioner's axe. 

That was it; it’s all on camera. She’ll know, they’ll all know. If they got to that ward… If they found Mrs Brown and if that information got out, they’ll know it was  _ him _ that led them to her and there was no coming away from that. He had only one recourse left, one he knew would bring pain but maybe, just maybe, would allow him to walk out of here tonight. Kevin wasn’t a snitch but as much as he’d thought about deaths warm embrace when he was alone in his apartment staring at the television screen, as soon as it became a reality, he wasn’t so keen on the idea. Mr Northwood didn’t want to die today. 

Standing in front of the phone on the wall, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a clean, ivory card with a number embossed into it in burgundy. He punched the numbers into the keypad and with numb hands, he brought the receiver to his lips, awaiting his mistresses toxic voice.

 

* * *

 

 

Hand knotted in Billy’s jacket, Steve hauled the man back into the men’s restroom, releasing the guy in front of him before resting his head against the cold wall tiles. 

“Quit with the shoving, dickhead.” He heard Hargrove snap as he followed the man with his eyes, head still pressed against the wall. 

Steve remained in position for a moment longer, trying to collect his thoughts before giving up and carrying himself to the urinal. “Whatever.” He replied, voice drained as he began to unbutton himself, peering over his shoulder to see Billy leaning over to look. “Dude,  _ seriously?!”  _ Steve said, alarmed, frozen in place.

“No need to be coy.” The man said with a wry smile, his voice lighter than usual as he tilted his head to the side, fully examining Steve’s entire body with those ocean blues.

“Wha- Jesus  _ Christ!”  _ Steve swore, fumbling to tuck himself back in and storming straight into a cubical, slamming the door loudly behind him. As he started to relieve himself, Steve sighed. Billy’s mood swings were starting to drive him to despair. So far in this one evening, he’d gone from guarded, concerned asshole to social asshole in the cab, bordering almost human outside the hospital - something he’d fucked up by trying to play Casanova, before reaching petulant teenager for the past twenty minutes, and now Steve was left trying to contend with ‘aroused at the worst moments’ Billy, who he could hear humming to himself outside the door. The guy was a fucking enigma and right now, all Steve wanted was a joint and a coffee, and maybe a spiked cage around his junk to keep Hargrove at bay.

Breathing in deep, he finished, straightening himself as he flushed and walked out of the door, right into Billy’s chest. Steve swerved beneath him and moved quickly to the other side of the room by the sinks, doing his best to not rise to the man who just shrugged, as if nothing was going on. The sooner we get to the woman, the sooner this is over and I can get home, he repeated to himself before clearing his voice to speak. “Right, okay so-”

“You’ve got a way with people, Harrington.” Billy interrupted, the softer voice back as he leaned right over a hand dryer, eating his last snack, his hips out behind him. 

Bewildered, Steve blinked, “Huh?”

“The guy was  _ terrified _ of you, kinda impressive really.” He said, pointing at Steve with the Kit-Kat he was already halfway through.

“It was  _ you _ he was scared of.” Steve replied, confused and feeling just a little guilty.

“Hardly.” Billy began, chewing on the candy, “I barely said a thing. You though - thought he was gonna piss himself at one point. You’re like some fucked up, high school principal when you commit to it.”  

Unsure of how to react to the twisted compliment, Steve screwed his face up, “Uhh, okay? Moving on because I meant what i said, I don’t wanna be here long-”

“Then quit babbling.” The man interjected, hand draped over the dryer.

Squinting and growing flustered, Steve ran his hands through his hair, “I’m not.”

He watched as Billy grinned ear to ear, seemingly enjoying how stressed he was getting, “Sure… Then why’re we here?”

“Because! I would rather go over a plan of action in here rather than out there where all these mysterious guards are supposed to be, is that okay with you, jackass?”

The man snorted and threw the final wrapper on the floor, “fine, whatever.”

“Okay, so that dweeb is probably calling Dr Simmons right now, so we’ve not got long before shit goes down and I would rather not get my ass handed to me on a Monday.” He paused to watch Billy sniff and sway his hips as Steve spoke. What was going  _ on _ with the guy? “Either way,” He continued, “there’s probably going to be some kind of fight, so I’d say we should know where our exit points are.”

“Taking this a bit seriously, aren’t we?” Hargrove said teasingly, an eyebrow raised.

Steve scowled,  _ “You _ may enjoy getting your head kicked into the ground, but I do not. Besides, I’m in my fucking work shirt-”

“What?” Billy blurted out, sniggering, “You came on a date in your fucking uniform?”

_ “It’s not a -  _ Y’know what? Fuck this, fuck you.” He shouted, flipping Billy the finger before marching over to the door.

“Don’t be like that, I didn’t mean it.” The man drawled, “Chill out, okay?”

Shaking by the door with rage, Steve turned on Billy “Chill out? Chill out?! I have  _ no _ idea why I’m here, but here I am, stuck in a fucking hospital at” He paused to look at his watch, “almost nine at night, hunting for some mental old lady who we’ve just discovered, is in a fucking secret quarantine suffering from some mysterious killer virus we don’t know  _ shit _ about. Not only that, but there are guard -  _ guards _ Billy, and I’m gonna be spending my fucking evening fighting assholes just to deliver this wretched letter for a man I don’t even know, ‘scuse me for being a bit fucking stressed right now!” He yelled, chest heaving.

To his surprise, the man in front of him continued smiling, eyeing Steve up and down in admiration, not saying a word.

_ “WHAT?!” _

“Nothing. You must really want to get those drinks after, huh.” Billy answered, his gaze meeting Steve’s glare.

“NO! This isn’t about that! Fucking hell.” Steve snapped, throwing his hands in the air, “What’s wrong with you? You’re a fucking animal, I swear. Does  _ any _ of this freak you out, like at all?”

Steve stared at the man who looked up into the corner of the room, his facial expressions changing subtly as his hips stopped moving. “I’ve probably experienced worse.” Billy replied eventually with a shrug to which Steve squinted at him in alarm. “Besides, y’cute when you’re losing your shit.” He finished, offering a seductive wink as he straightened himself, sauntering right past him and out of the door.

  
What the  _ hell _ was his problem now?! Steve thought to himself as the door slammed shut, leaving him staring at the vacant space Billy was a moment before. Experienced worse? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? How the hell did this guy manage to be a walking tragedy  _ and _ an uncontrollable flirt at the same time? And what was with that voice? It was definitely his, but it was somehow more melodic with a slight… flourish to it. How’d he end up going on a not-date with a fucking headcase? Screw it, if I’m gonna die, it may as well be today. The universe was clearly on some fucking killer high right now and Steve was just a part of it’s mental trip. It was obvious Billy couldn’t maintain his focus enough to listen to any kind of plan so, after hitting his head a few times on the wall, Harrington threw open the door and sped after him to his almost certain demise.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Date Night!
> 
> Over the next three parts we are gonna see how these two react in close confines, fight scenes, bitchy scenes, triggers, questioning and... an adrenaline fuelled scene between the two in part three. Sorry for my lateness this week - it was pride and I have been running a three day hangover alongside the start of inktober. Plan is to get the entirety of Date Night up by Monday in stages as it is long! 
> 
> I hope you love the guys interactions, it's been a roller coaster developing their characters, but it has been a lot of fun also. I said these guys would eventually talk, and whilst it isn't over drinks as Harrington would have liked, they certainly are talking... Well, shouting, insulting, mocking, whispering and generally being pricks to each other. Gotta start somewhere, eh?
> 
> Love you all
> 
> Kit


	15. Date Night: Pt 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Billy battles his worsening dissociation, Steve is stuck confused and frustrated, completely clueless as to what's going on with the man. Finally managing to separate himself from Harrington, Billy grits his teeth through agonising rolling migraines and confronts his headmate for answers but is left distressed by his demons' change in character. In pain and alarmed, he is reunited with Steve whose concern for Billy is replaced with an unshakeable anxiety as they approach the psychiatric ward, where to his surprise, Hargrove takes the lead, demonstrating a mysteriously superior knowledge of the unit and the mental health system in general. With their hearts in their throats, they navigate the security systems and the maze of corridors, offices and waiting rooms to the acute unit where finally, they arrive outside their destination - Quarantine. Riding a panic attack, Steve is about ready to quit all together, but this new Hargrove is determined and Steve learns the hard way that Billy will do literally anything to get to Mrs Brown.  
> Two guards block the entrance to the Quarantine and it is up to the pair to get around them before all hell breaks loose.
> 
> Part 2 of 3

Why’d you say that? Why the  _ fuck _ did you say that?! Billy screamed to himself internally as he walked down the corridor, hands in his pockets with his eyes on the floor. Shit was starting to feel very strange and he had no idea what was causing it. He  _ never _ acted like that; cute? In what universe would he ever call Steve (or anyone for that matter), cute. It’d been like his body was possessed, with his stupid hips swaying like some drunk chick on a night out, and for the life of him, Billy couldn’t stop himself. He refused to believe it was just Steve’s influence on him, for starters the guy was furious and clearly uninterested and yet, there he was - watching himself flirt like they weren’t in the middle of this massive viral mystery. 

No matter how hard Billy tried, he couldn’t focus on anything. His surroundings whilst definitely there, were not real enough for him to maintain visual contact for longer than a moment and he found himself constantly looking away then back to his boots, whose reality he was relatively assured of judging by the vibrations running up his calves. It had to be hunger. Running on four candy bars, a bag of potato chips and half a burger he’d stolen at work was clearly not enough, so Billy concluded that low blood sugar was the cause of his headfuck. 

“D’you know where you’re going?” Billy snapped his head around suddenly, spotting Steve who had finally caught up. How long had he been there? The man looked at him confused before repeating himself, “Do you know where you’re going? You’re just powering off into the distance.”  

Unaware he’d been walking so fast, Billy tried to slow down, “Uh-”

“You don’t, do you?” Steve sighed.

“Do you?” Billy retorted, defensively.

“No, but - ah, there it is.” He began, walking over to a large wall map, fingers scanning the various routes, “I presume if… if we’re here then… up there… there’s a lift to -”

_ ‘Does any of this freak you out, like at all?’ _ \- That’d been what Steve had asked, Billy reminisced to himself as he zoned out, vacantly looking at the map in front of him. The question followed him around, itching like crazy. Truth be told, he couldn’t tell; couldn’t find any feelings inside associated with the current events and despite the apparent calm he should be feeling, the absence of reaction scared Billy more.

“Hey! You there?” He heard Steve ask, his hand waving in front of Billy’s face.

“Huh? Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He replied casually, turning to Steve as the man said nothing, face flat. “What?”

“Did you even hear what I said?”

“Uh-” Billy started again, anxiety increasing as he realised he’d not even noticed Harrington talking to him in the first place.

“This is pointless, just follow me.” The man said, his back to Billy as he took the lead. 

Bemused and with a brain wrapped in a weird, numbing fog, he followed Steve silently, somehow now able to look at the environment around him, eyes drawn to curious things like the Z shaped crack in a ventilation unit and a small dick drawn on window frame.

“This isn’t a date, you get that, right?” Steve said, his voice devoid of feeling.

Shaking his head, Billy came to again, squinting at the lift they were somehow standing in front of. “Right” He replied, distracted.

Eyes narrowing with puzzled concern, Steve clicked his fingers to try and draw Billy’s attention again, “What’s - dude, you alright?”

“Just headaches.” Billy replied, not entirely lying - he was riding a migraine from hell, but the question left him feeling cornered. It was simply one he couldn’t answer.

“D’you need some water or something, there was a-”

“What is it with you?” Billy snapped back harshly, his thoughts racing, unable to catch a glimpse of a single one of them, “Fuck off, I’m fine.”

With eyebrows raised till his forehead creased, Steve exhaled loudly, visibly restraining himself before kicking his foot into the lift door to prevent it from closing. “Get in.” He said, now fully inside the elevator. Billy didn’t move, his brows furrowed in concentration. Steve slammed his shoe between the closing doors again, voice raised with annoyance, “What’re you doing? Get in!”

“I’m taking the stairs.” He finally managed, adrenaline spiking forcing a cold sweat across his body. 

“What?! You’re unbelievable, fine, whatever asshole, see you at the top.” The man hissed angrily, and then he was gone; the doors closing, leaving Billy standing, disoriented and alone. Well, not alone.

_ “You’re breaking.” _

As if. “Fuck off.” Billy whispered, shaking his head as he tried to find his bearings.

_ “You’re breaking. It’s all breaking.” _

His demon was colder this time - cold and harsh, devoid of their usual twisted, malevolent cheer. Spotting the entrance to the stairwell, Billy turned on his heel and kept his head down as he made his approach. He didn’t want to entertain the voice, but right now his head hurt too much for him to fight and so freaked out was he by his brains malfunction, he gave in. Billy needed answers.

“What’re y’talking about?” He murmured under his breath into the bleak landing.

_ “You heard me, you’re breaking - your mind is falling apart, it’s all collapsing.” _

Breathing through his nose and trying to look as normal as possible, Billy winced. To him, that was obvious, but he didn’t understand the significance of it, nor did he understand why it was getting worse now.

_ “We shouldn’t be here.” _

“What?” He asked, sticking to the side of the stairs he’d started to climb.

_ “We need to go, we can’t be here.” _

Squinting through the migraine that was steadily worsening, Billy bit back a small gasp of pain, “We’re fine, there’s nothing wrong, we’re fine.”

_ “Who’s we? This is all you.” _

“But you - what? You just said ‘we’.”

_ “There’s no we.” _

Pausing to lean against a wall, Billy tried to remember what floor he was supposed to meet Steve on - usually an easy task that he wouldn’t have to think twice about but right now, finding that number was like trying to catch smoke. 

_ “You’re sick. You know you’re sick, all of this is making you sick, we have to go.” _

“Two, Three, uh-” He paused, looking at his fingers as he tried to count, “Three, it’s always a three.” Looking up at the wall sign, he saw he was at floor two and peeled himself from the cool wall to continue his ascent, muttering to himself on repeat, “Floor three, floor three. Straight to the lift, meet Steve, then to quarantine and deliver the-”

_ “Psych Ward.” _

The words hung in his brain and he doubled back as a nurse sped past him, knocking him to the side. Hands flexing, Billy continued to repeat his directions, doing his best to avoid all eye contact from the people passing him on the stairs.

_ “Turn around, turn the  _ _ fuck _ _ around and go home! Fuck Mrs Brown, fuck this whole fucking thing, it’s not our problem if the stupid bitch is loco.” _

Swallowing, he sprinted up the last few steps as his persecutor ramped up the volume in his brain, the pain increasing. 

_ “You even listening to me, retard? This isn’t worth it, she’s not worth it-” _

“Not worth  _ what?!”  _ Billy shouted as he reached the top of the stairs, gripping the railing before lowering his voice quickly, “What’re you talking about?  _ I don’t understand!” _ . He waited, trying desperately to hear any kind of response from the monster in his head but there was nothing. Silence. “Don’t… don’t stop now - what’s going on? Why do we need to go?” Billy pleaded with the vacant space, eyes wide as the nothingness continued. “Fuck this.” He swore finally, shoving his way through the door where Steve was already waiting.

“What took you so long? What part of ‘Shit’s about to hit the fucking fan’ do you not understand?”

Strained and clutching his head, Billy nodded, “I get it.” He said before pushing straight past Steve.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you? You’re acting all… I don’t know-” The man asked, flailing his hands as if it would summon an answer from him.

“Nothing’s wrong.” he snapped back, ready to kick something when to his surprise, a calm began to fall over him, much like a blanket that’d been kept in the refrigerator - heavy and cooling. “Nothing’s wrong.” Billy repeated, turning to Steve to cement his lie.

 

* * *

 

If someone had asked Steve on some weird, late night quiz show, to describe how Hargrove came across at this part of their mission, he would’ve burst out laughing, rubbed his eyes and walked out the studio. The man’s behaviour made next to no sense to him. He couldn’t tell if Billy was scared, nervous, angry, drunk… anything. Nothing was clear other than the fact that Steve could do nothing right by him, and this set him on edge. It wasn’t like Steve wanted to be here and whilst he knew he could just leave at any moment, something inside his chest told him to stay with the man who was clearly not okay. He didn’t like this feeling, it was a dangerous one, and Steve wished that for once, he could put his own self preservation ahead of the assholes he was continually stuck with. 

He looked at the man now looking at him calmly and raised an eyebrow, “Okay, like that’s believable.” Steve said, unimpressed.

“Just forget about it, okay? Go fill that pinhead brain of yours with something else, shouldn’t be hard.” Came the expected confrontational reply and Steve rolled his eyes. At least some things remained constant - they would always have their insults. The day that changed would be the day Steve would know something was seriously wrong.

Choosing to ignore the dig, Steve tried to remain focused, now bored of the entire evening. “Moving on… So we’re on the right floor, we just need to make it to the psychiatric wing, right?”

“Should be straight down there.” Billy replied quickly.

“Yup, you’ve got the pass still, yeah?”

The man reached into his interior jacket pocket and flipped out the lanyard, “I’m officially Mr Northwood from this point on.” he said with a grin.

Steve snorted, “You couldn’t be that sap even if you tried. I don’t think you have it in you to be that… bland.”

He watched as Billy’s smile grew and it warmed him a bit, “A compliment? You shouldn’t have.”

Dismissing the urge to just look at the guy a moment longer, he pushed on “So I guess we just… go?”

“Yup.” The man replied simply, before turning to lead the way.

Well this was a change, Steve thought to himself as he followed a now stable-looking Hargrove waltz his way through the crowds, smiling to nurses as he went and whilst it confused him, Steve wasn’t going to complain about proactivity. He did, however, feel a stab of jealousy in his gut at Billy’s ability to somehow act completely normal when needed, especially when Steve himself was having to fiddle with his scarf to prevent the onset of nervous trembling. It wasn’t that he was scared, it was just a case of fighting the paranoia building inside of him, doing its best to convince him that every person in the crowded hospital knew what they were up to. 

The feeling progressed as they noticed the signs for the Psychiatric Ward and reality slowly began to sink in - something he’d managed to ignore whilst fretting over Billy’s bizarre moods. Quarantine, guards, killer fucking virus, breaking into a mental institution. Yup, there we go, the panic was back. Slowing as they reached the first set of doors, Steve followed Billy behind a vending machine.

“There should be a general ward aside from the acute unit.”

“Wha-”

“On the other side of these doors - there should be a less secure space, y’know, for families to go and general appointments. Most likely unmanned at this time of night, so that should be simple enough, either way, just stay quiet and follow me, got it?”

Dumbfounded, Steve blinked up at the man whose crown of ‘resident nervous wreck’ he’d temporarily stolen, “What? How d’you know all this?” 

He watched as Billy paused, face frozen before resuming its natural state, “I don’t know, common sense I guess.”

“What d’you mean?” Steve asked, just a little offended.

“Think about it - people come here all the time, right? For therapy and other shit. Not everyone in here is an inpatient - outpatients exist too.” He replied casually, turning back to the door.

“Outpatient?” 

“Yeah, someone who comes here for treatment rather than those actually living here. It’s not hard Steve, use your brain - Jesus.”

“Not all of us happen to know the in’s and out’s of this nuthouse bullshit - it’s not as if it’s common knowledge.” Steve grumbled. He hated feeling stupid.

“Guess I’m just smarter than you.” Billy fired back, pressing himself against the door as cooly as he could, “Right, you ready?”

Biting down his annoyance and anxiety, Steve tensed himself, eyeing Billy closely, “Nope, but let’s get this done.”. With eyes looking in through the slightly clouded door window, Billy nodded before pausing as Steve held his hand out behind him, signalling for the man to wait.

“We good?”

“Wait… Go - Go now!” Steve whispered hurriedly, and with that Billy swiped the card against the security point, opening the door a fraction and pushing through with Harrington following soon after. Standing now in a seemingly pointless airlock style room with a singular poster featuring a field of sunflowers, Steve looked at Billy who’d already made his way to the other door.

  
  


Without saying a word, Billy scanned the card again, holding the door open for Steve who crept through. He’d only managed to get a few feet into the dark room before he was yanked back violently by his scarf, a finger placed on his lips. Steve squinted furiously at Billy who glared at him, bringing his finger back to his own mouth and gesturing to the desk in the far corner that he’d only just noticed, was inhabited. 

Steve stared at the man bopping away with his headphones on, reading the paper and was pressed against the door by the back of Billy’s arm who was now investigating the room as best as he could from their position. Still holding Steve in place, Hargrove scanned the card again, opening the door as quietly as possible for them both to reverse out of. 

With the door now closed and his heart racing, Steve thumped Billy on the arm, “I thought you said it was too late for staff!?” he whispered, alarmed by the close encounter.

“Clearly I was wrong.” The man answered quietly, unphased by the physical contact, deep in thought. “Did you see another door? Back there - or was it my imagination?”

“I didn’t see  _ shit!  _ You wouldn’t let go of me!”

“There was a door, to the far side of the room. That must mean there’s another entrance.”

“Okay but what if it’s-”

“Wait here, give me a moment.” Billy said sternly and Steve watched as he walked back out of the main entrance doors. Trapped alone in this almost claustrophobic, pathetic excuse for a waiting area, Steve chewed his nails, staring at the sunflower field before jumping to attention as the it opened again with Billy’s head poking out, hissing for him to follow. 

Righting himself and trying to hide any evidence of his nerves, he stepped into Billy’s shadow and the pair returned to their commune spot behind the vending machine. “What?” He asked, almost hoping there was no way forward so they could both just leave already.

“I was right.” Shit. “There’s a staff room, lights out and empty by the looks of it, right behind that door there.” Steve followed the man’s gaze before smiling disgracefully at a doctor, who walked right past, eying them oddly. “I bet you anything, if we go through there we can make it to the other entrance of the main reception area. That way, we only have to make it a few yards to the other side and the guy at the desk won’t see us.”

Steve stared at Billy in baffled awe, shocked that the guy’d taken the initiative to come up with a plan, especially considering his arrogant dismissal of all of his own earlier, “That… That’s actually a good idea. What’s on the other side of the door in that big room?”

“I dunno, probably a security checkpoint.”

“Y’sure this is wise?” Steve began, his anxieties elevated by the reminder of the potentially violent patients who could be awaiting them on the other side, “We don’t know what’s in that ward or the state of the crazies in there, I mean, if they’ve got-”

“They’re not fucking ‘crazies’,” Interrupted Billy, shooting Steve a disgusted scowl, “they’re ill. The poor fuckers in there get enough of a shit time from themselves, they don’t need any more from dumb cunts like you, got it?”

What the fuck? “Whoa, Hey! I didn’t mean -”

“Save it.” Billy snapped, not looking at Steve as he stormed to the other door, “ _ You’d _ probably be the most dangerous person in there.” he finished, pulling the lanyard out.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Steve said angrily in hushed tones as he filed in behind Billy, who remained quiet as they entered the staff room. To his relief, Hargrove was right. The office was completely empty and just as Billy had suspected, another door stood in front of them. Passing through it quickly, they snuck down the lifeless corridor and even though he was trying to keep his mouth shut, something niggled at Steve, “I’m not gonna lie, your knowledge of all this is freaking me out a bit.”

“Well then, don’t think about it. Easy.” Billy replied, as if it was nothing at all.

Biting his lip, Steve braved the question he’d wanted to ask the moment Hargrove had described the layout of the ward, “Were you like, in one of these places?”

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” Steve almost exclaimed, squinting in the dark, “How can’t you know? That’s a pretty fucking big thing to just forget.”

“I’ve never been here, or anywhere else like this for that matter. Must’ve been from a film or something; 12 Monkeys, Terminator 2, Silence of the Lambs - asylums are in everything.”

“But I’ve seen tho-”

“Will you shut the fuck up!” Billy hissed behind him and Steve closed his mouth tightly, remembering where they were. 

As they reached the hallways exit, Steve watched as Billy exhaled and lowered himself to which he did the same. With a hand raised, Billy counted down with his fingers before swiping the card, stealthily slipping into the dark room again, holding the door open so Steve could get through and silently urging him to keep going to the other exit as he closed it gently behind him. 

Now standing at the acute ward entrance with eyes fixed on the snacking guard manning the desk, Steve whispered as quietly as he could, “Will it be clear the other side?”

“No idea.” Billy replied, reaching behind him and pressing the pass against the fob.

  
  


Moving more cautiously now, Steve stuck to the wall as he entered and almost choked when he saw the others in the room. Billy had already spotted them and to his amazement, the man remained calm. Where was this Billy half an hour ago? Steve thought to himself as he gripped onto the door handle to steady himself. 

“What now?” He whispered, heart pounding, watching the orderlies behind the thick glass panel congregating around a small television screen. 

“We wait.” 

Grimacing, Steve stared at the ceiling, “What, we just wait here? In plain fucking sight?” he asked in disbelief.

“We can’t exactly go back now can we? Dumbass.” Billy replied, monitoring the group laughing in the office, “They’re watching the game, see? When someone scores again, we go, got it? Idiots will be too busy cheering to do their job. That’s when we go to that door. That’s the acute ward entrance.”

“Fucking hell,  _ fucking hell!”  _ Steve swallowed, breathing through his nose as his eyes took in the room they were stuck in. 

The space was barren, painted a dated mint green with accents of purple. Despite the fake plants dotted about, the room still felt cold and Steve swore the walls were almost glazed. He noticed how everything was fixed to the floor; the chairs and table nailed down, the cabinet drilled into the wall and almost all of it was plastic. On the table lay multiple outdated copies of some country living magazines and the odd gossip magazine from 1995, nothing current whatsoever. There was another field on the wall, this one full of lavender to match the colour scheme but what pulled his attention most were the signs plastered all around them. 

To the right of him a large poster detailing alarm protocols, pointing out what to do in the event of some nutcase losing it he’d supposed, in which they were advised to stay calm, alert and follow all instructions given by the ward manager. Next to it a sign displaying the exits, secure and non secure, with a warning to ensure they were escorted by staff in and out of the premises. Eyes narrowing, Steve tried to read one of the large ones across from them. It appeared to be some kind of contraband list and as the orderlies continued to chat and laugh, he ran through the prohibited items. No sharp objects, flammable substances, lighters, cables, drugs, needles, glass, mobile phones, aerosols, glue, china… China? What was wrong with  _ china? _ And who’s gonna bring a fucking posh plate into a hospital? He winced to himself, a hand moving to his pocket to hold his lighter tightly. 

Finally his gaze rested on a ‘cheery’ poster with some clip art, smiling face. Steve stared at it for a while, hating the face that felt inappropriate and patronising. The text beneath it read ‘Big Smiles’ and this left Steve feeling oddly sad and angry. The confusing emotion pulled at his heart as he tried to imagine what it must be like being stuck in this godawful place where your family had to be reminded to smile at you. In a way, it reminded him of his parents, but even though that association was powerful, his sadness pulled his deep brown eyes to subtly look at Billy who was staring fixedly at the office room, a well of empathy knotting his stomach as he traced the man’s tensed profile. 

A loud roar shattered Steve’s contemplation, jolting the pair into action, lowered and sticking the the walls, they sped nimbly to the heavy duty doors decorated with various “No Entry” signs. This was it, this was it, fuck, keep it together. Still crouching, Steve looked up at Billy whose face was contorted with pain, but in a flash it was gone, replaced perfectly with the collected facade he’d sported so well up until now. Hardly able to breathe, he waited as the man breathed in deep and pushed open the door slowly.

  
  


The cheering and yelling from the match carried through to the ward where the pair now stood. The space they crouched in was empty, the patients and staff congregating around a large TV enclosed in plastic panels at the very back of the large room. With a hand outstretched to advise Steve to stay in position, Billy made his way slowly behind a bookcase that was also locked up behind a thick plastic barrier. Did these guys have to  _ ask _ to get a book? What damage could a book do?! Looking around him, he noticed how the dreadful colour scheme continued into what he presumed was a common area. Very little had been done to make this place homely and that irritated Steve, who took these things very seriously. Some soft cushions or throws wouldn’t have gone amiss, hell, even a lively rug would brighten up the place, and in this moment, he felt grateful for his home that he wished he could return to. 

“Asshole!” He heard Billy whisper quietly, to which Steve returned his attention and crept over. “They’re all waiting for their meds to kick in so they’re fucked. Even so, we can’t risk it - there are staff milling about and the only exit that I can see is too far for us to reach unnoticed.”

Steve thought about asking Billy about the medication reference but thought better of it, remembering the man’s previous reactions, choosing instead to try and focus on present events, “Y’reckon that’s the door to the place?” He asked hesitantly, “If we can’t get there that way, what the  _ hell _ are we supposed to do? I’m not waiting again man, not in here, it gives me the creeps.”

“Pussy.” The man replied mockingly with a small smile.

“Fuck you.” 

“Later.” Billy said playfully to which Steve’s heart slammed against his ribcage, his cheeks colouring against his will. “I think we’re just gonna have to wing it, see what works. There are what look like bathrooms over there, I’m gonna go through that corridor there to see if there’s  an exit.”

“Fine, whatever.” Steve mumbled, beyond nervous now and almost sweating as he followed Hargrove to the bathrooms. 

The corridor they entered into widened into a pseudo-communal bathing space and Steve shuddered at the lack of privacy. It reminded him of the highschool showers and he couldn’t for the life of him imagine how forcing a group of unstable people to be naked around each other would help anything at all. Surprised at his growing empathy for the detainees, he breathed a sigh of relief as he noticed the presence of shower cubicles. Good. In his opinion, privacy and dignity were a basic human right, and even though the cubicles were locked, it at least meant that somebody could wash themselves without being watched. 

The fire exit on the other side of the bathroom wore a sign that said ‘No longer in use’, and Steve glanced at Billy who smiled again, checking the wiring leading up to an alarm before giving the thumbs up. On the other side now, they entered a disused walkway piled high with cardboard boxes, old pipes and rubbish bags. Tiptoeing around them, Steve felt the temperature drop and he shivered as they spotted another abandoned fire exit, this one with a series of cones in front of it, some heavy warning signs and a smashed light above it. 

“Bingo.” He heard Billy say triumphantly and before Steve could say anything, the man shoved the stiff door open, powering through without looking back. 

Steve skidded after him, almost tripping over a broom as he fell through the door and into a dark, abandoned stairwell, lit only by a skylight a few floors above them. Unable to take any more, Steve braced himself against the wall, his breathing shallow and fast as he tried to let the waves of panic roll off of him. He’d been so much better at this sort of thing as a teenager but now an adult, Steve was much more aware of consequence and his mortality, and this left him shaking as he realised they hadn’t even reach the scary parts yet.

Embarrassed, he felt Billy’s eyes on him and he turned to see the man looking at him like he was pathetic. He was pathetic, Steve knew that, but he didn’t want Hargrove of all people to see, and certainly not to judge, especially after his performance earlier this evening. 

“What?”

 

* * *

 

 

Fully energised and alert, Billy stared at the almost hyperventilating form of Harrington doubled over against the wall. What the fuck was his problem? Why the sudden panic attack? Too pumped to bother with empathy, he waved away the urge to ask the man if he was okay and instead echoed his father, “Get a grip, Jesus, it’s not like anything’s happened. We did it, we got through, pull it together Steve.”

“Just… give me a freaking minute.” The guy panted and Billy watched as Steve held his chest, pressing his forehead against the brickwork. 

Useless, fucking useless. Bored of the show, Hargrove took in their surroundings, listening to the throbbing of generator and watching his breath swirl in front of him in the unusually freezing air. Why was it so cold? Wired, he investigated the only other door on that floor and smirked at the bio-hazard signs plastered all over it. This was the one, they’d made it. The thought somehow electrified him, fully erasing whatever fucked up head drama that’d consumed him for almost the entire day. Billy always felt like this when shit got real - some kind of magnificent clarity forcing him into the moment and he loved it; loved how the danger lit him up like a power station in overdrive. It made him feel  _ real _ .

Almost laughing to himself now, he turned to face Harrington again who was standing straighter, leaning his back against the wall now. “Cunning bastards.” He whispered into the dark

“Huh? Who?” Steve managed, still not looking up.

“Devious little shits, fucking genius”

Bewildered and annoyed, Steve finally looked up at him with a strained face, “What?”

“Putting this  _ here.”  _ Billy began, kicking the floor, “The acute ward is the most guarded and secure area of the hospital - probably the entire town, excluding the police station and possibly the prison. Nobody gives a flying fuck about those patients or anything going on in here, it’s not like they can really tell anyone.”

“They’re using the nutho- the psych ward as a cover?” The man said, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

“Gotta be. Damn place is noisy enough during the day - any more noise isn’t really gonna be noticed. If any of those poor fuckers were to tell anyone anything, who’s gonna believe them? A bunch of delusional, psychotic maniacs? No one. Just pump ‘em full of med's and tell them it’s all in their heads. Evil cunts.” Billy concluded, stretching and flexing his back as he felt his temper rise.

“That’s… fuck, what if they get sick or whatever?”

“Who d’you think’s gonna care? You?” Billy asked, his low voice laden with judgement, “To all you lot, they’re just the fucking psycho’s -  _ ‘lock them away! Call the men in white coats! Protect the good and innocent people of Hawkins from the mental cases!’  _ Mrs Brown didn’t stand a fucking chance.” His hands burned now, trapped in a confusing mix of admiration and fury at the bastards’ exploitation of those most vulnerable. The anger gave him power and he felt himself grow with the heat of it, shoulders rolling back as Steve spoke again.

“Fuck this, oh God, right…  _ Shit.  _ What’s the next move?” 

Enjoying how it was Steve now asking him for directions, Billy paused again, “Someone’s smoking.”

“Huh?” Harrington whispered, brows furrowed.

“Someone’s smoking - through there, I can smell it.”

“What’re you? A fucking werewolf or something?”

Billy ignored the man’s comment and held his ear against the door, “Two men, probably guards. Two men chatting and smoking, they’re listening to that stupid game on their radio. Can’t hear anyone else.”

“Shit, what the fuck do we do now? Not like we can pretend we’re lost.” Steve groaned.

“Oh, I dunno ‘bout that.” Billy replied with a devious side smile.

“What?” The man asked, his face growing more alarmed.

Grabbing Steve’s wrist firmly, he yanked the man to him so he stood right by the door, “You first - walk in there and say you’re lost.”

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!” Steve hissed as loudly as he dared, trying desperately to wrestle his arm out of Billy’s grip.

He didn’t let go, instead pulling the man closer to him so their bodies almost pressed against each other, “Most likely.” Billy replied, fixing his eyes on Harrington’s, trapping him in his gaze, “Go in there and draw them to the door.”

Almost losing the plot now, Steve tried shoving Billy away but this was a different Hargrove now, and nothing anyone could do to him would deter him from his goal, “NO! Fuck you! I’m not  _ that _ suicidal - I can’t, what’re you-”

On fire, Billy silenced him by kissing him suddenly, holding the man tightly as he felt him tense. He always tasted so fucking good. After a few seconds, Steve pulled away with all his strength and stared at him like he was insane, his eyes wide with cheeks almost crimson. “You’ll be fine, trust me - I’ll be right here behind the door.” Billy said calmly.

“Trust you?  _ You want me to fucking trust you?!”  _ Steve spat, his frantic stress comical to Billy who watched on with amusement, “You’re fucking mad, completely insane -  _ you should be in that fucking ward!”  _ He continued, but Billy was already holding him by the door.

“Y’ready?”

“NO!”

“3,2,1 -  _ go!”  _ Billy commanded with a wicked smile, buzzing the door and pulling it open quickly, a strong hand buried into Steve’s back to push him through the entrance. Before the man could turn around to leave, Billy had already closed it and there he waited, ear pressed against the door, wishing Harrington would get his shit together and do what he needed to do.

 

* * *

 

 

Frozen in the doorway, his body rigid, Steve held his breath and refused to move. That fucking  _ asshole had thrown him to his fucking death with a kiss!  _ He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t process anything and as he stared at the two men still in their own world, completely oblivious to his presence, Steve swore to any deity listening that if he got out of here intact, he would skin the ridiculous motherfucker alive. 

His mind raced as he remained in place, what the fuck was he supposed to do? Holy  _ shit?!  _ Pull them to the door? How in the hell was he gonna do that? This was a secret quarantine hidden behind a secure unit, in an abandoned stairwell with zero possible means of entrance without ID, there was no way he could convince anyone that he’d just gotten lost. How do you introduce yourself in this fucking situation? _‘Oh, hi, sorry, uh, it would seem that I have gotten lost, yes I know I am not supposed to be here and uh I shouldn’t have been able to get through that door covered in Do Not Enter signs with clear bio-hazard warnings, but here I am, can you help me out?’_... Steve was fucked, beyond fucked and at any minute those men would notice him and that would be it. He’d have to say something, but he couldn’t move his mouth to do so, couldn’t think of the words to say…

Steve’s blood ran cold as he heard Billy act on his behalf, banging on the door loudly behind him, drawing the attention of the guards. Right, that’s it, Hargrove’s gonna fucking pay.

“Hey - hey you, what’re you doing in here?” One of the guards asked, flicking his smoke into an ashtray made of tinfoil.

“Didn’t you see the signs? This is a bio-hazard area, no entry-”

“Uh-” Steve stammered, trying not to pass out, “I think I’m lost.”

“Y’don’t say.” The larger guard laughed, looking at his companion in disbelief.

“How’d you even get here?” 

“Umm, I dunno.” 

“You retarded or something? You from the ward?”

“I told ‘em one of the freaks would find this place, I fuckin’ told ‘em.” The smaller bald guy said, adjusting his pants as he got off his fold-up chair.

“No - I’m not from the ward.” Steve answered, unsure what to say, his fingers going numb.

The bald guy narrowed his eyes, turning off the small radio so only the hum of the generator remained, “Well where’re you from? How’d you find this place?”

Draw them in Steve, draw them in. “Doesn’t matter where I’m from.” He tried, hoping stalling would somehow pull the two closer, “Or how I found it.”

The fat man looked at the other, taking a step towards Steve before hanging back, obviously confused, “What is this? Some kind of joke?”

“Did the lady send you? This some kind of training shit?”

“No lady sent me.” Steve continued, playing the mystery card now.

“Should we call her? No one’s s’posed to be down here, said it would be impossible to find.”

“Are you lost or where you sent by someone?” The more observant of the two asked, the pale light reflecting off of his scalp.

“If you think about it, we were all sent by someone.” Steve replied, surprised in spite of his fear, at the kick he was getting watching the pair try to figure out what to do, “And I’m always lost, I dunno about you.”

“What the fuck?” The fat one mouthed to the other, gesturing to Steve in frustration.

“He’s from the ward, he has to be, must’ve somehow snuck out.”

“Go back to wherever you’ve come from and no one gets hurt - okay?”

Steve smiled, now fully into his act, “Sure, no problem, established what I need to know.” He finished turning to the door.

“Wait, what? Hey!” One of them yelled and he tensed, hearing the thudding of footsteps close in on him, “What’re you talking about?”

“Nothing, I’ll leave you alone.” He replied, facing the door, a hand reaching for the handle.

“Shit! What if he’s press?!” The other said anxiously, rushing to pull out his radio.

“Who d’you work for?” 

“A lot of people.” Steve said calmly, adrenaline coursing through him as he looked the tall fat guard in the eyes.

Mumbling into his crackling radio, the bald guy moved over to join them but to Steve’s frustration, he paused midway across the narrow room. 

“No radios.” He instructed, employing his preferred authoritative tone.

“What?” The bald guy stuttered, the radio still going as a collection of voices echoed from it.

“A lot of people will be  _ very _ disappointed to learn that your first response was to radio out-”

“I  _ told you _ \- It is a training exercise, fucking testing our responses.” The man groaned, switching the radio off without thinking.

“Must be an under the radar thing, y’know, to keep us on our toes.” 

“See, he gets it.” Steve smiled, adjusting his posture to appear more in control, “So, I’m an intruder - I could be anyone, but I’m telling you I’m lost. What do you do?”

“Uh - tell you to leave?”

“But I haven’t, have I?”

“Then we threaten you.” The larger guy mused, deep in thought.

“You’ve already tried that and yet, here I am.” Steve retorted, gesturing to himself.

“So we threaten you more.” The bald guy at the back said confidently.

“And how’re you gonna do that from all the way over there, huh? This one guy by himself, an intruder could easily take down - no offence.”

“Uh, none taken.” The fat man said, his face screwed up, “Yeah, actually, Dave, he’s right - we have to work together.”

“So show me how you’d threaten an intruder who will not leave despite all you’ve tried. Don’t worry, you can’t scare me.” Steve lied, bracing himself.

“What’re you waiting for?” The guard standing in front of him hissed to the guy still lingering at the back. 

As the man began to walk over, Steve rolled his eyes dramatically, “How’s that supposed to intimidate me?”

“Shit, yeah - OI! I thought we told you to fuck off!” The man yelled, storming over as he rolled up his sleeves, finger pointing right at Harrington’s chest.

“Better, now you.” He said calmly to the guy in front of him.

“You fuckin’ deaf? This is a restricted area, no fuckin’ entry!”

“Unless you have a pass, you’re not allowed in here!”

Steve rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a card, “What, one of these?”

The fat man snatched the card off of him, turning it around as he inspected it, “Hang on, this is for - this isn’t-”

“You’re not…” The other guy began, now standing right in front of him, the pair looking at the Planet Bowl ID card, baffled, as Steve smiled triumphantly. 

A quiet beep interrupted the huddle and Steve looked behind him at the door handle turning. Instinctively, he leapt out of the way fast, stepping back from the entrance as Billy walked in, cigarette in his mouth and with a viciously swift movement, he seized the fat man’s head, slamming it against the wall twice and letting go as the cracks resounded around the room.

Snapped out of his act, Steve watched, stunned, as the man dropped to the floor, motionless as blood began to pool out of his ear. Shit, was he - was he still alive? He turned his appalled gaze to Hargrove as the man puffed on his smoke, taking it out of his mouth to spit on the blood he now strode over, his attention on the bald guy who was fixed in place.

“Who… who the  _ fuck are you?!”  _ The man stuttered, staring at his non-moving colleague on the floor.

“Yer final test and I think you’ve failed.” Billy said arrogantly, and as the startled guard reached for his taser, he flung his smoke over his shoulder and gripped the man’s shoulders, forcing him down as he drove his knee right at full force into his opponents rib cage. Winded and doubled over in pain, the guard dropped the taser with a clatter, his coughing interrupted as Billy smacked him across the face with the back of his hand, sending him staggering backwards. 

“Look, you’re not even fucking trying.” Hargrove snarled, hoisting the man up by his shirt to face him, “Whatcha gonna do shithead?” he goaded, teeth bared as guy tried to swing for his gut. Snorting Billy released the guard, seemingly enjoying the action and waited for the sweating, gasping fool to run at him, to which he simply stood out the way, watching the man skid on his friends blood and fall to the floor before he continued his mockery, “Aha, useless - and how’re you supposed to stop my friend here from entering that quarantine when you’re floundering on the tiles like a bitch?” 

The guard tried to stand, his hands slipping on the slick floor as he scrambled to his feet, but before he could make it, Billy turned on a pivot, kicking the man brutally in the jaw with the heel of his boot, breaking it and knocking him back onto the floor. Steve watched on breathlessly, wincing for the idiot who was now rolling on the floor yelling in pain and clutching his bleeding mouth, remembering very clearly how it felt to be on the receiving end of that rage.

“Pathetic, what say you?” 

“Huh?” Steve blurted out, facing Hargrove who grinned maliciously at him, “Uh, yeah, totally.”

“Well, let this be a lesson,” Billy began, kneeling right next to the crying bald man on the floor, grabbing him by his broken jaw so his bloodied face was forced to look right into his now pale, blue eyes, “Never let someone pull you into their corner, fucking idiot.” And with that, Billy grabbed the taser and cracked the solid base of it on the back of the guards head, knocking him out cold. 

Taking a moment to watch the blood fall into the cracks on the tiles, Billy shrugged and knelt over, reaching into the man’s pockets, pulling out a series of cards, $40, a packet of Marlboro’s and an unopened flapjack. He looked at his haul, impressed, and slipped them into his own pockets before getting to his feet and looking at Steve who at this point, just saw the return of that fucked-up monster from ten years ago. 

“We good to go now?” He finally asked, nonchalantly stepping over to Steve who dug his heels into the ground subtly as to not flinch. 

Glancing down at the two motionless guards on the floor, Steve turned back to Hargrove, pointing at them, “Are they… alive?”

“Probably.” The man replied, shrugging as he walked to the quarantine doors.

Noticing the blood starting to pool around his Converse, Steve hopped over it, catching up with Billy, his head still a mess, “Where’d you get the cigarette? You were all out earlier.”

“Found it on the floor by the bin.” He replied as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Steve looked at the man disgusted before shaking his head, not entirely sure why he was even surprised. “We going in or what? Won’t be long until someone comes up to investigate their radio call out - good work by the way, that was inspired.”

Reminded now of how this entire scene had started, Steve shoved Billy hard, “Fuck you,  _ fuck you!”  _ he shouted, thrusting him against the wall as his hatred forced his forearm against Hargrove's chest, holding him in place. “You fucking  _ used me as  _ _ bait _ _!!!”  _

“Worked, didn’t it?” Billy replied hoarsely, looking down at Steve almost affectionately, not bothering to wrestle out of the hold, “Fucking spectacular bait you were too, ingenious I’d say.”

Harrington glared at the man, restraining himself from breaking his nose, “Don’t  _ EVER  _ do that again. Ever.”

“Alright Princess, calm down - I had your back the entire time.”

“So?! You don’t get it, do you? Fucking hell. This isn’t over, y’hear?” He warned, releasing his grip and watching as the man adjusted his shirt.

“I’d hope not.” Billy smirked audaciously, to which Steve’s jaw almost fell off in disbelief.

“I’m not joking dickhead.” He seethed, hands balled into fists, watching as Hargrove pressed the ID card against the door, buzzing it open.

“Neither am I.” Billy replied with a flourish, before walking into the quarantine, Steve following behind him furiously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's about to get REAL! 
> 
> Right, so, I can't really talk much on this right now as it is past midnight, my wrists are actually aching from writing and Inktober, and I don't want to give anything away BUT! ooft, writing this pair and mapping this 3 part chapter has been *insane*. 
> 
> I am at 278 pages, 114,943 words and 14 chapters completed in 15 weeks, and I am pretty proud of myself - also stunned I haven't thrown in the towel (this is a lot of work, trust me) and amazed that I haven't royally cocked it up (touches wood). So far, continuity is fine, my plot points marry up and the characters remain consistent, well... almost, Billy is supposed to be inconsistent but it is my hope at this point that he is consistently inconsistent. 
> 
> So yeah, let's get this read and enjoyed before I slam the big red button and start The Upside Down drama for reals. 
> 
> Kit


	16. Date Night: The Conclusion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now in the quarantine, Billy and Steve begin their investigation only to discover something monstrous is at work in the Hawkins General Hospital. With Steve struggling to reign in panic and Billy fighting sudden shifts in behaviour out of his control, the pair take in the still breathing remains of Mrs Brown, and as alarms are sounded, the pair are left on the run.  
> Skidding through the hospital horrified by what they'd just seen, the men are cornered and it's as Billy suspected - no one's leaving without a fight.  
> As Billy and Steve battle it out against the unit sent to find them, both are pushed to their limits, juggling survival instinct with morality until they are left breathless and wounded, but this time, Billy's found a gun.  
> Driven by rage and loathing, Hargrove needs answers and he is in no mood to forgive. Unable to halt the chain of events through any of his usual means and panicking as Billy is pushed to destabilisation by his captive, it is up to Steve to be creative. Hargrove has questions that need to be answered if they are ever to leave so Steve turns to the darkest corner of his mind to get the man what he needs, in turn saving both of their lives.

The first thing Billy noticed as he strode into the quarantine was the smell, forcing him to gag. Holding his forearm over his nose, he took in his surroundings. The room was cold - colder than it was outside and as he spotted the large air conditioning units dotted around the room, he knew what the generators were for. There were over a dozen curtained off bays in various states of disarray, large whiteboards on the walls whose scrawlings were hardly legible and files scattered across desks. This was not how he’d pictured a secret quarantine. Billy had expected spotless, white surfaces, state of the art technology, bright lighting… But what he was presented with reminded him more of a war-zone triage unit.

“Jesus Christ, it stinks in here.” He heard Steve groan behind him, disgusted. Billy peered over his shoulder to see the man pull his scarf over his nose, his eyebrows knitted together as he too looked around the room. “...The fuck? Did the cleaners just… not even bother?” Steve scowled, walking over to one of the empty bays, inspecting the stains on the curtains and torn bed covers before pulling away repulsed. “There’s blood everywhere. This is… Why has no one cleaned any of this shit up? And what the hell is this stuff - look, the black stuff here.”

Billy stood behind Steve, hoping that the man’s excessive use of hairspray would block out the odour of the black grease smeared on the bed. “No idea, looks like oil, doesn’t smell like any I know though.” He said, his ears picking up the sound of life support machines echoing across the space. “There are patients here - living ones.”

“Y’serious? How can - you can’t keep people in here. It’s disgusting.”

Billy said nothing as he investigated another two empty bays with trepidation, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of the tearing in the fabric. He picked up a discarded clipboard and flicked through, squinting in the gloom to read the terrible handwriting. “Miss… Miss Banks… sixty-two years old… Strain one, progression one-”

“Miss Banks? Linda Banks?” Steve interrupted, catching up with him and snatching the chart, taking from his inner coat pocket a glasses case. Surprised, Billy did his best to not gawk at him as Harrington slipped the glasses on and as much as he wanted to comment, he bit back the urge. It was a good look, he had to give him that at least. “It is, I know her. Mom and Linda were good friends, she used to babysit.” Steve murmured and Hargrove watched the man’s eyes scan the papers hurriedly, biting his lip as the others face went pale.

“I’m sorry.”

“Strain one, progression one. Host rejection, terminal. Wait, host rejection?” He asked, wrinkling his nose to push back emotion as he hid under his hair. “What does host rejection mean?”

“No idea.” Billy replied bluntly, turning his back on Steve. With his heart beating fast, he walked to the large whiteboard on the wall and inspected the diagrams crudely drawn upon it. “Take a look at this.” He called behind him to the man who was still examining the chart.

“What is it?”

“I’m unsure, I think it’s a bed plan.” Looking around him, Billy spotted a light switch and flicked it on, screwing his face up as his eyes adjusted to the new brightness. Steve was standing beside him now, his lips moving as he read silently the text on the board.

“It says there are two ‘waves, see? ‘Wave 1’ and ‘Wave 2’. The first wave has… Sixteen beds.” Steve said, turning around to count the bays in the room. “Fourteen, fifteen… sixteen… So that would be here, right? So…”

“Where’s ‘Wave 2’ supposed to be… And what the fuck are these waves anyway? ‘Wave 2’ has three floors. That’s gotta be what, over one hundred beds, at least?” Billy frowned and moved in closer to the diagram, his blood running cold as he did. “They all have names on them - even the unused beds. Bay seven is clean but here it says… Mr Ramsey, age twenty-four.”

Taking off his glasses and holding them at his side, Steve pulled his scarf higher over his nose, his voice muffled as he spoke, “What’s that supposed to mean? They - no. This shit doesn’t work like that, they can’t just _plan_ when someone’s gonna get sick.”

“They can if they’re the ones making people sick.” Billy said bitterly, flexing his hands as hatred tugged at him. This was bigger than anything he’d previously imagined and somehow in the midst of it, there was Mrs Brown.

“You saying they made Linda sick? All of them? The chart said she was terminal - if they did this to her then they-”

“They killed her.”

 _“Fuck!”_ Steve shouted, kicking the desk beside him as he held his head. Billy said nothing and passed him one of the stolen cigarettes. “Fuck this. Let’s just find your friend and get outta here. I’m done with this, I don’t want to know anymore, I just want to fucking leave and pretend this isn’t happening.” He continued, scrabbling for his lighter, but Billy was ready, flicking the cap off of his and holding it so Steve could smoke. “Where’s Mrs Brown? The sooner she gets that letter, the sooner we can go.” Taking a moment to watch the man suck on his toxic pacifier, Hargrove scanned the chart for the name and without saying a word he looked behind him to one of the curtained bays towards the back of the room. “Which one is she? She still here?” Steve pushed, his anxiety obvious.

“Bay nine.”

“That one - the one over there?” Steve asked, shaking himself before walking ahead of Billy to the bed.

Despite his burning resentment, Billy was nervous. He didn’t want to look behind that screen, and even though his curiosity demanded he do it, dejavu was seeping its way into his pores causing his feet to drag as he approached the curtains. The prickly sensations were back now, the room starting to feel very big as an uncomfortable familiarity sent a shiver up his spine. Steve appeared equally on edge, but the man seemed so intent on getting out of here that he’d temporarily thrown caution to the wind.

In an attempt to slow time before the inevitable moment they’d have to look behind the curtains, Billy picked up what he’d assumed correctly, was Mrs Browns chart. “Mrs Brown, fifty-six, strain one, progression two.” He began before passing the clipboard to Steve, who flicked the glasses back on with a snap of his wrist.

“Host partial acceptance. There’s that host bullshit again - a second strain? So what she has is different to what Linda had… Hang on, there’s a symptom list.” The man ran his finger down the paper and Billy braced himself as it was read aloud, “Organ haemorrhaging, major psychological distress, skin necrosis, growths… aggression, delirium, fever… expected fatality.” Steve’s voice trailed off as he looked at Hargrove who just stared at the screen, feeling faint. “It says she’s dying - at least you were right there?” He tried, his attempt at reassurance falling short, “It’s signed by a whole hoard of people from this ‘Complex Cases’ team. I don’t recognise the names, wait - Dr Simmons - she’s on here. She did the psych evaluation - she’s a psychologist? Explains how she convinced your friend of all this.”

“They lied.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, lowering the clipboard.

“They lied to his _fucking face!”_ Billy shouted, his anger returning, something he welcomed gladly.

“Hey, I know, but ca-”

“That bitch told him his wife believes he did this to her, they _convinced_ her that he did this! She blames him, do you get that? She fucking blames _him!_ And he -”

Steve bravely raised a hand to try and calm him but Hargrove was lost now, smacking him away sharply, paying no attention to Harrington as he stood back. Behind them, a wall radio crackled into life and Steve’s eyes shot to it in an instant. “Calm down! Someone’s going to hear you if you keep-”

_“Stairwell six, can you respond? Following up on the call out you made. Please come in.”_

Billy looked up at the damp ceiling and gritted his teeth. He had to do it, he had to see - had to _know_ what it was the woman had suffered at the hands of these fucks.

_“Stairwell six - David and Smith - please respond.”_

“Shit! Billy, they’re gonna know.” Steve swore, pacing now.

_“No one was scheduled to be up there other than yourselves. Please can you let us know of your status. Stairwell six, can you confirm your status?_

Numb and biting back the returning migraines, Billy lunged forward with fingers knotted in the curtain, ready to pull them away before halting in his tracks as Steve’s cold hands curled around his wrist. “Y’sure you want to-” the man began but Billy shoved him harshly, glaring at him until he shrunk away, and as his fingers trembled and his mouth ran dry, Billy yanked back the screen to reveal Bethany Brown.

 

* * *

 

 

The minute he saw the thing that used to be Mrs Brown, Steve doubled over, clutching his mouth as he retched, his glasses clattering onto the floor. With bile in the back of his throat, he peered at Billy from beneath his hair to see the man frozen in place, lips parted as his breath condensed in the cold air. This can’t be happening - that _thing_ can’t be real, Steve repeated to himself, clutching the table as he righted himself. Everything in him told him to run; fuck Hargrove and whatever was lying in bay nine, and run the hell away from here, but his feet remained rooted to the spot. Something about that creature rasping behind him seemed familiar but it couldn’t be… It’d better fucking not be…

He had to be sure.

Summoning all his strength and ignoring the radio still buzzing in the corner Steve tried again, this time managing five seconds before throwing himself behind the curtain to vomit. “Nope, no. Fucking… No.” He repeated, refusing to believe what he’d seen. Holding onto his thighs tightly, he closed his eyes tight but the image was burned now into his memory. “What… what the _hell_ is that?!” He gasped, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Bethany.” Billy replied, almost inaudibly.

“That is no woman. That thing isn’t fucking human.” Steve choked, cautiously moving back behind the curtain, doing his best to look only at Hargrove. The man was very still, his lips slowly moving as he looked fixedly at the bed and to his surprise, Steve noticed his blue eyes watering. Shit, he couldn’t look at him either. Reluctantly, Steve looked at Mrs Browns legs, taking in the black grease seeping out of the wounds where dark green scaling protruded. The skin had clearly decayed, most of it having been clawed off judging by the gouge marks across the calf and what little remained was tinged a sickly grey hue with vivid red tendrils from infection working their way up to the torso. Holding his hand over his mouth, Steve felt dread sink in as he connected the dots slowly. “No, no no no no. Not this shit again.” He said frantically, knowing he’d have to look at the face to be sure.

“She’s still alive.” He heard Billy say, still motionless, but Steve couldn’t care less for the man's feelings at this point. He’d done everything he could to stay away from this drama, slaved to erase this part of his history and live a normal fucking life and somehow, the one time he’d gotten the courage to ask Billy for drinks, this shit was back. Trying his best not to laugh in disbelief, Steve continued to hold his mouth as he looked through one eye at the creatures head. There he saw the teeth.

“Shit! Right, what the _fuck do we do now?!_ What do we do?” He swore, his heart ready to break free from his rib-cage, recoiling from the bed and gripping his head till the nails dug into his skin, “I thought this was over, I thought this shit was… We’ve gotta go. Billy! We’ve gotta go _right now!_ This… No, we’ve to get outta this hell circus or we’re fucking dead!” He shouted desperately at the man who had now pulled the letter out of his pocket. The bastard wasn’t listening, was he zoning out _again?_ Fuck this, Steve thought as he stormed towards him, clipping him across the back of the head, knocking him temporarily off balance. “What’s _wrong with you?!_ We have to go NOW! Put the letter down and move!” Stunned, Billy looked at him with confused wide eyes, his breathing fast and shallow. “Fuck - this is too big, it’s too shitting big. I’m sorry about your friend but we-”

Steve stopped talking immediately as he noticed Hargrove’s expression change in an instant, the bewildered, scared eyes darkening with rage as he seized the table in front of him and hurled it violently across the room behind Steve who’d only just managed to duck in time - the heavy table crashing into a shelving unit sending its contents spilling onto the floor. Flinching as the cacophony resonated across the room, Steve glowered at Billy furiously before launching at him, forcing his body against the bed railing.

“WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?! I didn’t do this to her! You could’ve fucking… You can’t just-” He seethed, bending the guy’s back over the steel bars before darting his almost bloodshot brown eyes to the radio.

_“Stairwell six, we have two units almost at your position. The acute ward has reported a disturbance from your area. If there are intruders, contain them by any means - they cannot be allowed to leave.”_

“Do you hear that?! Your fucking explosions have alerted every bastard in here! Now they know we’re here. Now they know what we’ve seen, do you fucking understand? I don’t want to die today, y’got that? I don’t want to fucking die in this fucking place on a _shitting Monday!_ Screw the bitch and -”

“Barricade the doors.”

Bordering on manic laughter, Steve released Billy and continued to yell, “You suicidal _psycho! You want to trap us in here?! ARE YOU EVEN-_

“Barricade the fucking doors _now!”_ The man snapped coldly, squaring up to Steve and pointing to the door, his neck widened with anger as he leaned into him. Unable to move, Harrington looked into the pale eyes and saw within them a man that would quite comfortably snap his neck as if it was nothing. “Are you broken Harrington? Any minute now, an army of cunts are gonna come through those doors. We can’t get out of either of them, they will come from both sides. I’m surprised it took them this long. We go out the window.”

Disoriented and rocking a little, Steve laughed again, “The window?! Yeah, because falling to my death voluntarily somehow beats being kicked to death, shit - _shit!”_

“It’s that or stay here, get caught and face whatever they have planned.” Billy said hurriedly, speeding to the boarded up window by bay nine and tearing the planks off. “As I thought, there’s a roof there. We’ll be fine… What’re you waiting for?! You do that door, I’ll do this one.” The man commanded before a shrill alarm cut through the hum of the generators.

Clutching his ears and gritting his teeth, Steve searched for any indication of where the alarm was coming from, turning to Hargrove as he yelled over the noise “What the fuck is that?!”

“Ward alarm - they must’ve set it off to keep that lot contained so whoever’s coming for us can get through. They’re gonna be here any moment now.”

No longer needing any prompting, Steve ran to the door they’d entered through, skidding to a halt in front of a large filing cabinet before pressing his back firmly against it and pushing as hard as he could. The sounds of boots hitting the tiles in the stairwell sent him into a sweat, “oh fuck - no, no, no!” he swore as he slammed the heavy unit with his body, his Converse leaving dark streaks on the floor beneath him as finally, it rested in front of the door. Without thinking, Steve moved the main desk against the cabinet, ensuring one of the corners was jammed against the first bed so that there was no chance anyone could force it open.

“Y’done?!”

“Jesus Billy, I can hear ‘em, they’re literally in the corridor.”

_“Stairwell sixs’ guards are down, someone’s gotten in - two men by the sounds of it, they’ve… they’ve sealed this entrance, they know.”_

Abandoning the barricade, Steve turned to Hargrove who to his horror, was loosening the restraints on Mrs Brown. “What! DON’T!” He exclaimed, bolting over as fast as he could, slamming his body into the man he’d presumed had gone insane. “You crazy?” Steve spat, wrestling Billy away from bay nine, looking over his shoulder at the mutated abomination twitching on the bed, “We don’t have time! What if that thing -”

The banging of bodies against doors was all the distraction Billy needed to barge past Steve who fell backwards, watching on in alarm as the man returned to the restraints, “I’m not leaving her here like this!”

“Not the fucking time to suddenly grow a heart! _Fuck Mrs Brown! She’ll probably kill us anyway!”_ He almost screamed, unable to understand what was motivating the man to be so reckless.

“Then GO!” Hargrove yelled back as the thudding grew louder, changing pitch as something heavy was rammed against the doors, “I’m not an idiot! I’m not releasing her, I’m loosening it! It’s digging into her skin!”

Staring at him in confused despair, Steve couldn’t bear it any longer. Running at Billy again with full force and an arm swinging around to catch the man’s neck, he dragged him away from the bedside. Before Billy could react, he snatched the letter from his hands and flung it onto the sticky, gnarled chest of Bethany Brown, turning back to the guy who was now gritting his teeth and holding his head.   
“Happy now, dickhead? Can we go now?!” Steve hissed but Hargrove was still clutching himself in pain. “NO! NOT NOW!” he yelled and smacked him hard across the face, snapping him out of whatever fucking trance he was in and pulling him back into the real world. _“Y’back now? You fucking with me now? MOVE!”_

Seizing Billy’s wrist, Steve ran to the window, swearing as he saw the bolts fixing it shut. “It’s locked, it’s _fucking locked! What the hell do we do now?!”_ Shaking his head violently, Billy scanned the room around him and grabbed a metal chair, “MOVE!” He ordered and as Steve ducked, Hargove hurled the chair through the window before reaching over to rip the scarf from Harrington’s neck, wrapping it around his fist as he punched the largest shards of glass from the frame.

 

Without looking back, Steve pushed ahead of Billy and threw himself out of the window, tearing his jeans on the jagged edges before landing with a thud. Instinct forced his aching legs to charge towards the red fire exit sign and as he heard the sound of heavy boots connect with the rooftop behind him, he clutched his chest in relief. Crashing into the door, Steve looked down, his hands searching for any sign of a handle in the darkness. “It’s… _it’s a one way exit! There’s no way in!”_ He said frantically before jerking his head behind as further dull thuds echoed through the night. They were here - they’d gotten past the barricade.

Pushing Steve to the side, Billy began to kick the door over and over at the point where a handle should be, swearing at it until eventually, it swung open. Still staring at the men shouting into their radios and speeding across the rooftop, Steve choked as Hargrove gripped his shirt, slinging him through the doorway and down the unlit stairs. Leaping two steps at a time, he ran, the other following him down to the base of the stairwell until they reached a final door, one that as he shoved himself through, he realised led to a public corridor. Squinting at the brightness, Steve noticed the confused glances of patients and nurses who’d stopped what they were doing to watch their entrance.

“Act normal!” Billy whispered as they began to walk away from the exit.

“How?!”

“Just do it!” The man repeated, the palm of his hand buried into Steve’s back as he ushered him along. Act normal? How the fuck was he supposed to do that? He could hardly stop himself from hyperventilating, let alone smile and pretend everything was okay - like the world wasn’t about to fucking end. Shit, where were they going?

“Wait - _asshole!_ Where’re we going?!”

“Out - home - away from here!” The man replied, not slowing.

“They’ll be at all entrances, they’ll know that’s where we’re going!”

Stopping suddenly, Billy looked over his shoulders, hissing through a pained smile as he nodded to a small kid wearing a respiratory mask and cuddling a toy bunny, “Shit - how the fuck do we get outta this place then? Break another window?”

 

“A map - we need a floor plan. A fire exit - we need a fire exit that leads directly onto the car-park far enough away from the main entrances for us to get a direct route to the cab.”

“There!” Billy said, pointing into the distance, “Far wall.” Spotting the floor plan on the other side of the corridor, the pair walked as fast as they dared with Hargrove still looking around him. It was then he noticed some of the patients pull out radios, slowly moving to stand. “They’re here! They look like normal shitting people!”

“Radiology - Radiology is ground floor with tonnes of doors, fire exits too.” Steve remembered, guiding Billy down a sudden left turn and away from the map.

“How d’you-”

“When you caved my goddamn face in _and_ stabbed me, I had to go there. I remember the fucking exit signs.”

“Where is it? Can we make it?” Billy asked as they sped down the corridor, dodging patients and staff as they did, craning their necks around to check how much of an advantage they had over their pursuers - not much.

“Yes, if we go past E.N.T and stick left, we’ll make it.”

“We won’t be alone - there’ll be people everywhere.”

“Then get rid of them,” Steve began, breathless in his flight, “We’re not invisible anymore, we just have to scare them the fuck away.”

“Done.” Billy replied, and as the pair rounded the corner towards the radiology sign at the far end, Hargrove slammed his fist into a fire alarm. With lights dimming and the sprinkler system activated, Steve commended the man internally for his quick thinking, twisting his body to the side as crowds started to push their way past him, his eyes fixed on the double doors as shouting carried its way over the alarms. Swerving in front of him, Billy whipped the security pass out of his pocket, barely touching the fob and without looking back, the two men skidded into radiology.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Everybody out!”_ Billy yelled, waving his arms and thrusting those in front of him towards the exits.

“Who the-” A doctor began but Billy had no time for idiots at this point.

“MOVE! You deaf?! GET OUT!”

“But we-”

Frustrated and fully present now, Hargrove strode over to the man who clearly didn’t get the urgency and grasped at his white coat, throwing him out of the way. This did the trick and as pandemonium ensued, he watched Steve jump onto a desk to find the fire exit, swearing down to Billy as he realised that everyone and their uncle would be trying to force their way through those doors. “Shit, we’ll never make it through!”

Billy knew Steve was right - in the moment he’d forgotten that the damn doors actually had a set function and he cursed himself before turning to Harrington who was still standing on the desk, monitoring the room. “You’re right but maybe the chaos will buy us some time before those fucks arrive.” He shouted over the tannoy that was now blaring over the alarms.

Soaked to the skin now, he watched as Harrington pointed to a door on his right, his eyes wide, “They’re fucking here, man - they’re _here!”._

Leaping onto a chair, he saw over the crowds of people pushing past them that once again, Steve was right. With adrenaline spiking, Billy signalled to his companion to get off the desk before jumping off the chair himself, landing with a splash on the wet tiles where water was now starting to pool. He turned to his left and nodded to the man whose brown hair dripped onto the floor, body braced as he turned to the door where the invaders stood, waiting patiently as the panicked public flowed past them. “Don’t move - don’t even bother running. We’re not getting outta this now.”

“There’s five of them.” Billy heard Steve say, his voice hardly wavering at this point. Good - he’d waited for this to happen, if they were to survive, Steve had to have his head in the game. Neither of them moved for a full minute as the room emptied, and now, with only the seven of them standing under the flashing red lights and fake rain, Billy stepped forward, moving Steve behind him subtly with a warm hand.

“Don’t do anything, got that?” He ordered, slipping his palm into the back of his pants and pulling out a small, black leather case.

“Why? What’re you-” Steve began, his face twisted with confusion to which Billy looked right back at him calmly, his hands still behind his back as he slipped a capped syringe out of the case, holding it out of sight and dropping the container to the floor. Noticing Steve’s eyes dart to it, Billy shook his head, flicking his finger to his face to pull the man’s attention away from the concealed weapon that he’d now tucked into his jeans. With eyes now fixed on each other, Hargrove’s heart skipped a bit as they both panted in the shadows. He saw Steve’s fear - saw the panic he was trying his best to bury and the determination behind it - and nodded again reassuringly, pulling his gaze from him and turning to the assholes on the other side of the room.

Shrugging his shoulders and shaking his long, sodden hair, Billy clicked his neck before smiling, “Ah, crap. You’ve found us. Took your sweet time, thought you’d gotten lost - hospitals eh? Fucking mazes.”

 

* * *

 

 

 _He’s gonna get himself killed!_ Steve thought to himself as he watched Hargrove saunter towards the guards. He was on edge now, his body tensing all over as he ran through every possible way their enemies could come at him. Unlike Billy, Steve wasn’t experienced at unarmed combat and it was times like this he wished pointlessly that his nail-bat would materialise out of thin air, restoring his courage so he could be of use to the man who was taking the situation into his own hands.

“We have them - yes, radiology.” He heard one of the men in grey suits say into his radio and Steve swallowed as he noticed a larger guard reach into his pockets.

“That’s a pretty incredible horror show you’ve got up there.” Billy said casually, holding his hands behind his head.

“What’d you see?”

“Everything.”

“Egress?” The man in the suit asked, leaving Steve puzzled. He had no idea what Egress was - hadn’t seen the word anywhere, but Billy was on a roll now.

“Yup.” Hargrove replied, still closing the distance slowly, “So what happens now? Slap on the wrist then send us on our way?” Barely breathing, Steve watched as two of the guards dressed as orderlies moved to stand either side of the suited man at the front, bodies lowering gradually. Any minute now - any minute now…

“I think you know that’s not possible.”

“Well, fuck.” Billy sighed dramatically, reaching behind himself to press his hands into his spine, pretending to stretch as he flicked the cap off the syringe with his thumbnail which he caught effortlessly and slipped into his pocket. Where the hell did he find that? Was it from quarantine? Eyes darting from Hargrove to the men now bracing themselves, he bit back his relief that no one had noticed his partners actions and waited, restlessly wiping the water from his eyes before almost shooting out of his skin as Billy yelled loudly, “Holy SHIT! What the _hell is that?!”_

As everyone’s attention was pulled to the corner of the room, guided by Billy’s shaking hand, Steve spotted the man slide the syringe to his inner forearm, holding it at his side as one of the guards spun back around to face him, disoriented. Before the man could open his mouth to speak, Billy lunged forwards, dropping the syringe so it was held properly between his fingers and in a blur, he buried it into the guards neck. The man staggered for a moment, clutching at the needle before dropping to the floor in a crumpled heap.

“Fucking idiots.”

 

Stunned, Steve flinched as the fight began, staring almost mesmerised at Billy who veered smoothly out of the path of an oncoming fist swung in his direction. Off balance, the guard didn’t notice Hargrove return the gesture, this time a connection was made as knuckles bore into his stomach. He didn’t even have time to swear before Billy slammed his shoulders into him, pushing forwards with full force until the man slipped on the wet tiles.

Frozen in place, Steve’s focus was pulled away by a second man in a suit lowering a steel briefcase onto the floor, lifting a radio out of his pocket as he observed Billy grappling with his subordinate.

_“You’ve gotta move, Steve! MOVE!”_

Snapped out of his daze, he did exactly that, vaulting over a chair before reaching behind him to grab it, grunting as he threw it in the direction of the man with the radio. With the alarms still blaring around them, Steve gasped as he was hit by three jabs to the ribs, instinctively driving two of his knuckles into the throat of the guard who’d managed to ambush him - a deadly efficient move that worked as well on the man now choking in front of him as it had on Billy, who was currently wrestling two people to the left of him.

Crouching low, Steve twisted to the side to seize another chair by its legs, sweeping it around fast and gritting his teeth as the reverberations from its contact with the man’s knees ricocheted up his arm. Without letting go of the chair, he spun it around, his fingers wrapped tightly around the metal poles as he drove the solid back of it into guards head who was struggling to stand. He repeated the action for good measure, ensuring the bastard wouldn’t get up again before returning his attention to Billy who was bloodied now, still fighting but with another motionless body at his feet.

Dropping the chair to the floor, Steve held his chest as he tried to breathe, the pain from the hits he’d taken coursing through his nervous system. “The briefcase!” He heard Hargrove shout and Steve dove towards it, grabbing the handle and throwing it in Billy’s direction. The man caught it with ease, allowing the momentum to add power to his movement as he span, cracking it harshly across the man’s face who crashed into a table. Steve looked on in awe at Hargrove who grinned maliciously through the blood dripping from his chin, laughing bitterly as he stood  to face the guy who’d mistakenly thought a clipboard would save him.

So enthralled was he that Steve didn’t notice the suited man speed up to him, nor did he spot the knee that was about to make impact with his gut. Retching and almost falling over himself, Steve clutched his abdomen, eyes watering as bile was pushed into his throat. _“BRACE!”_ he heard Billy yell from across the room and Steve obeyed, tensing everything he could and planting his feet into the ground as a heavy boot struck his side.

Blinded by the pain, he remained close to the ground, swiping his arm to the side of the man’s knees, destabilising him before pushing himself back, evading the flurry of hits aimed at his face. Faltering back to a curtained off bay, Steve caught Billy’s gaze and he swore he’d seen in those feral eyes encouragement, which he took with him as he continued his duel with the suited man. The guy could fight - he was clearly better at it than Harrington was and as he rolled swiftly over the vacant bed, he knew deflection was his only way out of this.

As the suited man approached him, Steve grasped the curtains, ripping them from their rails and pulling back as the material shrouded him from his opponents view. Then, in a singular, swift action, he dove behind the man and wrapped the plastic-lined sheet around the his head, twisting it tightly and holding on as hard as he could until his arms burned.

Steve was beyond tired now, his body screaming at him in agony with fear clouding his judgement. Tasting blood in his mouth, he spat to the side of him as he continued to asphyxiate the man who was now clawing at the curtain covering his face. Slowly moving to the floor, Steve knelt on the wet tiles, his distressed mind playing on repeat memories of all the times he’d felt powerless, forcing him to hold onto the sheet even as his captive started to go limp. I can’t let go - I mustn’t let go… Steve screamed inwardly as his eyes began to water, completely overwhelmed at the return of the bullshit he’d foolishly thought was over.

“Steve!” Billy shouted, grabbing him by his shoulders, “Asshole! He’s done!” he continued, but Harrington didn’t move, gasping and shuddering as he pulled tighter. Kneeling down to his level, Hargrove clasped his calloused hand around Steve’s wrist to which the man shot his head around, terror painted across his pale face as he stared at Billy with wide eyes. “Let go!” He said firmly, digging his thumb into Steve’s wrist to force him to release the unconscious form now lying on his lap.

Finally returning to himself, Steve dropped the curtain and skidded backwards, recoiling from the grey form sprawled on the floor. Fumbling to his feet, he almost fell over again as the blood surged to his head and with his eyes closed tight, he bent over the patient's bed, pushing his face into the mattress before screaming at the top of his voice.

He remained there, trembling and yelling into the sheets before moving to his feet sharply to find Billy, who was busy scouring the pockets of the suited man. It was then Steve froze, watching in horror as his companion lifted the man’s jacket to reveal a holster carrying a gun. “He - He had a _gun?!_ He had a gun the entire time?” He stammered, freaking out, “Fuck! I can’t deal with this, I can’t - Why’d he have a gun? He could’ve - I could’ve-”

Unable to look at the machine Billy was now rolling in his hands, Steve tried not to hyperventilate as he realised how very close to death he’d been. A click made him flinch and he noticed Hargrove, who was still crouching on the floor, checking to see if the gun was loaded. The man’s face was severe, his chin more forward than usual as he inspected the weapon, his blood falling onto the hilt. Steve didn’t feel protected by the sight of Billy holding a firearm. Truth be told, he was deeply unnerved looking down at an already dangerous man stroking his new killing machine.

“We - We’ve gotta go, we know too much, _I know too much!_ The exit - we have to-” He began but he didn’t have time to finish as the door in front of them opened slowly, revealing a tall man with blonde hair, once again wearing a grey suit yet this time, he was decorated with an orange tie.

  


Time seemed to slow around him and Steve watched in horror as Billy turned the gun on the stranger, his arm perfectly steady as he stood. Stupidly and without hesitation, Harrington rushed at him in an attempt to lower the gun and he inhaled sharply, quickly realising his mistake. He backed away hurriedly as Hargrove swung the barrel to face him, the man’s eyes now glazed and cold as he held it only inches away from Steve’s nose. Unable to breathe, he held his hands to his sides, trying to find any sign of a Billy who’d listen but he saw none, so he remained in place as his companion returned his aim to the intruder.

“Put the gun down.” The man said calmly, raising his arms as he walked into the room.

 _“Fuck you!”_ Billy roared, chest heaving with lips curled back as he straightened himself fully, “Give me one fucking good reason why I shouldn’t blow your head off!” Feint now and on the verge of passing out, Steve followed the pair with wide eyes, his breathing shallow as Billy strode over to the clean cut, blonde man who remained unflinching as Hargrove held the gun to the man’s temples. “What the _fuck did you do?!_ What did you do to her?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Smacking the man across the face with the side of the gun, Billy continued, his other hand balled into a fist, “You know exactly what I’m talking about motherfucker, Mrs fucking Brown - patient nine! The tortured monster you have kept up there!” Steve winced as Billy hit the man again, harder this time with the barrel, sending him staggering back and spitting blood onto the floor.

“There’s nothing up there. I don’t know what you think you’ve seen, but there’s nothing up there other than the psychiatric ward. Is that where you’re from?” The suited man asked, taking on an oddly considerate tone.

“N- Don’t lie to me!” Hargrove stuttered, surprised before narrowing his eyes again, the arm holding the gun shaking a little, “I know what I saw, I’m not fucking crazy! I _will kill you, do you not get that?!”_

“I didn’t say you were crazy, it would be improper to refer to patients as crazy. How about you lower the gun and we return you to where you belong.”

Steve watched on wordlessly, staring at Billy who was now clutching his head, his face contorted in pain, “I’m not a patient! I’m not from here! I don’t fucking belong here! _Who the fuck d’you think you are?!”_ _  
_ Somehow, even though he knew he’d walked through the hospital doors with Billy this evening, Steve found himself confused, his brows furrowed as he felt his reality shift a bit. This wasn’t good. Hargrove was unstable enough as it was and this piece of shit was busy shaking the world around him. Did the man want to be shot? Shit. _SHIT!_

“Billy!”

“There’s no shame in being ill, some just have it worse than others. It’s a sickness - Billy was it? It’s a sickness, this thing you have? That’s all it is - an illness.”

“Hey! We have to go! Now, before anyone else turns up! Don’t listen to him!”

Outraged and almost driven to tears, Hargrove ignored Steve and forced the gun against the man’s cheek this time, spitting as he yelled, “How the _fuck do you know?_ I’m not _sick!_ I - I’m not fucking sick, it’s just headaches!” Looking behind him at the presently clear exit, Harrington felt his panic return as he noticed Billy flick the safety off. Oh hell no. “On the ground! Get on the fucking ground _now!”_

The man didn’t move, holding his position which made Billy madder. _“DOWN!”_ He screamed before kicking him brutally in the crotch, pressing the gun into the back of the man’s neck forcing him to the wet tiles where he straddled him.

“He’s stalling Billy! The police are probably on their fucking way! He _wants you to shoot him! He wants you to fucking lose it! Let it go!”_ Steve shouted after him, every fibre in his body telling him to run for the doors and save his own skin, but he couldn’t leave Hargrove. The man had no idea what he’d just walked into, and whilst Harrington would’ve gladly kicked the crap out of him for what he’d done earlier, it was clear to him that the guy channelling his rage through the barrel of a gun was not in his right mind. “LET GO!”

“You can’t leave - you know that, Billy. Neither of you can leave. If you run, you will be followed. Patients aren’t allowed to leave, especially not high risk ones such as yourself.” The suited man said boldly, spitting out the water that kept trying to flood his mouth.

“Will you shut the fuck up?! He’s not a patient! We didn’t come here from the pissing ward!” Steve seethed at the demon pinned to the ground, running over to try and distract his companion. “Seriously, Billy, if we don’t leave now, we are fucked. If you kill him, you become the monster! Get up and-”

“What did you do to her?!”

“Who?”

With his hair covering his almost grey eyes, Billy pointed the gun just over the man’s shoulder, holding it right by his face before firing into the distance. Gasping and clutching his ringing ears, Steve stopped breathing, ducking low and cautiously looking at the pair locked together. _“Hands on your fucking head!”_ Billy spat, pressing the red hot nose of the gun into the man’s wet cheek, leaning over him as the water sizzled and evaporated off of it, singeing the skin. “What the fuck did you do to Mrs Brown?!”

“JESUS CHRIST! Put the gun down! People will be in here any fucking moment, everyone in here would’ve heard that and they will be charging in here _armed!”_

“Not until I get some fucking answers!” Billy shouted back and Steve saw he was deadly serious. This was life and death now, if the blonde haired idiot didn’t talk, all of them would be dead and even if they did manage to somehow escape, the pair of them would be fugitives, with Billy officially a cold-blooded killer. Steve leaned back, his body numb as he gripped his head tightly, deaf to the alarms when suddenly, an answer came to him from the darkest corner of his brain.

Slowly with a shaking hand, he reached into the front of his coat and pulled out an expensive fountain pen. He studied the engraving in silence - ‘Good luck in your new role, love Mom’ - and in a daze, he wordlessly slipped the lid off, lowering it gently onto the ground before raising the stainless steel nib in front of him, watching it glint blood red in the flashing lights. Hypnotised, he pressed the tip against his thumb and pushed down till it bit into his skin, nodding to himself as the pen proved its strength.

Billy was still shouting at the suited man on the floor who in spite of all Hargrove had tried, continued to work his poisonous brand of head magic, but Steve ignored them both, his gaze fixed on the pen as he knelt in front of the pair.

Confused and spitting with rage, Billy glared at him, his eyes bloodshot, _“What’re you -”_ He began but Steve didn’t look up, his voice level as he replied.

“Hold him down.”

 

* * *

 

 

With his sanity and empathy torn away from him, Billy wanted the pathetic cunt on the floor beneath him to die - wanted to spray his brains across the floor for whatever the hell it was he’d just seen in that quarantine. He couldn’t care less about his own life at this point and as the migraines ripped his brain apart from the inside, he could barely see anything but this blurry, static haze. Unable to think straight, he felt the floor drop continually from below him whilst the walls seemed to bow. It was like someone had detonated an atomic bomb inside his mind, throwing the clamouring chorus of twisted voices in his head to a new level of intensity he’d never previously experienced. Everything hurt, his body shivering as unknown sensations surged through him and all this fucking asshole in his tacky fucking suit could do was call him a crazy… Call him insane… Like _Billy_ was the one who was in the wrong, because he was _always the one in the fucking wrong!_ Nothing felt real anymore, just this dirty mess of colours and sounds and in the midst of it, Steve.

“Hold him down! Keep him still! - ASSHOLE! DO IT!” The man commanded louder this time, his tone icy enough to freeze the frantic motion in Billy’s brain, allowing him to finally hear. Shaking his head, he snarled at Steve, refusing to release the gun or his prey as he opened his mouth to yell but Harrington narrowed his gaze, speaking first, “Shut up - Don’t say a fucking word. You kill him, you get no answers, right? No fucking answers and guess what? You’ve murdered a man, not by accident, but in cold blood. What happens after that, huh?” he hissed as he studied the suited man’s hands, “We both go to shitting jail, that is, if someone doesn’t just storm in here and shoot us on sight.”

“Who the fuck cares?!” Billy snapped, his thumb stroking the trigger as he bared his teeth at Steve who lowered the pen to lean right into him.

“I CARE! You want him to talk, yes? Then hold the bastard down."

Breathing through his nose, it took all of Billy’s restraint to put the safety back on and tuck the gun into the back of his jeans, confused at the comfort he felt hearing that familiar, authoritative tone in Harrington’s voice. He had no idea what the man was planning or why he was pressing this stupidly posh pen into his wrist bone but this was last-resort Steve - a guy he’d learned not to fuck with.

“Pin that arm down - the left one.” He instructed and once again, Billy did as he was told, bewildered but breathing steadier now as he obeyed, his heart rate slowing as he focused all his attention on what the man wanted from him. He watched on as Steve seized his captives wrist before twisting it upwards and splaying the fingers apart. Putting the pen between his teeth, Steve lowered himself right down until he was eye level with the man’s thumb that he’d now secured in his grip, the front of his body pressed onto the cold, soaking tiles.

“Ask him again.” Harrington directed, taking the fountain pen out of his mouth and holding it in his spare hand.

“What?”

“Just ask him again!” Steve repeated with such assertion it forced Billy’s stomach into knots, triggering the dispersal of pins and needles across his inner thighs, “The sooner this is done, the sooner we get outta here!”

“Y’heard him! What did you do to Bethany Brown?!” Billy spat down at the man who to his continued amazement, was still calm as ice.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about - I’ve told you, this is pointless. I can’t tell you what I don’t know.” The suited man replied casually, his face still pressed into the tiles. Billy had never encountered a person like this before in his life - someone so... empty that even though he was pinned to the floor by two furious men, the pulse Hargrove felt under his vice like hold remained consistent.   
Looking to Steve now for reassurance that he wasn’t insane, Billy noticed the man trace the tip of the pen under the others nail. “Is this supposed to scare me?” The fool beneath him laughed and Billy watched with cautious fascination as Steve’s lips curled upwards, grimly.

“No-” he began, exhaling slowly as he angled the fountain pen downwards, gripping the man’s thumb tighter, “It’s supposed to hurt you.” and with that, Steve drove the steel nib straight under the nail.

 

Mouth open in horrified awe, Billy held the man down with all his weight he screamed - squirming as he desperately tried to pull his entire body away from Steve who only pressed the tip in further. Unable to look away from the point of pain and with a heart pounding like an addict who’d just spotted the jackpot, Billy watched as the sadist bit his lip in concentration, slowly raising the pen to pry the nail away from its bed.

 _“YOU! You fucking… You evil fucking...”_ The writhing man howled behind him, choking as he inhaled the water that was now almost an inch deep where his mouth was.

“Evil? No. I’m saving your life.” Steve interrupted coolly, “Answer his question.”

“Fuck you!”

“Wrong answer.” he sighed, before lifting the base of the pen up sharply, the nib digging right into the flesh, sending blood and blue ink seeping down his fingers as Steve ripped the nail off.

 _“Jesus Christ!”_ Billy swore, gagging as he returned his attention to the man who continued to scream, “It was a simple enough question you fucking idiot, but let’s try that again, shall we? What did you do to her? What kinda jacked-up, super virus did you give her and the others?”

“EGRESS!”

“And what the hell is that? I ain’t no doctor but I sure as shit know that’s not some normal disease, people don’t just… become whatever she’s become. What is Egress?”

“I - it’s - I can’t -” The man stuttered through tears and Billy shook his head, looking at Steve who nodded and snatched the bastards forefinger, his eyes now hidden behind his bloodied bangs as he pressed the blade-like nib into position again.

“Bit of a complex question? Right, let’s move to an easier one, someone did this to her. Who?”

“No! Don’t!” He begged but it was too late. Hitting his head on the tiles, he cursed and kicked behind him as the pen was forced under his nail again, right to the root, “THEY DID IT! They fucking did.”

“Who’s they? Complex Cases?” Billy asked, yanking the man’s head up by his hair with his free hand as Steve twisted the pen this time.

“NO!” he whimpered, “Bigger - we - we just oversee.”

“Oversee what?”

“The test subjects!”

Hatred building, Billy pulled the guys head back further until the man rasped, his neck straining. He had to see the cunts sobbing face as he got his next answer. “You’re testing on them?” he pushed but there was no reply so ruthlessly, Hargrove tugged harder until his detainee lips were forced apart, the sprinkler water now flooding his mouth and as his eyes widened with panic, Steve twisted again with the pen. _“She - she’s one of your fucking experiments?!”_

“They all are -”

“What are you testing for, you evil shit!” Billy spat but the man was almost passing out now, gurgling as he drowned. Incensed, he released him, staring at Steve who looked right back at him with the only eye visible from under his hair and without breaking contact, Harrington ripped the tool up again, tearing another nail away. Despite everything this day had thrown at Billy - all the voices, zoning out, revelations and freak-shows - somehow this connection calmed him down and he looked on in admiration at the monster lying across him, wrestling with the crying stiffs’ middle finger in his attempt to make him suffer. As fucked up as it was, it made Billy feel human.

“I would answer the question if you wanna keep your fucking hand, what’re you testing for?!”

“To see… to see if the hosts survive!”

Empowered by his companions involvement, Billy smiled wickedly through his rage and smacked the captives head against the floor before tugging it back up so he could see the blood snaking from his nose, “Survive what?! What are you making them survive?!”

“Please don’t!!! Don’t fucking… Stop, I-” The man began but Steve wasn’t having any of it, taking the now bent pen nib and inserting it more viciously than before into the middle finger, his shoulders hunched over as he bore into him.

_“Answer the stupid question!”_

“What’re they surviving?!”

_“TRANSFERENCE!”_

“Transference of what?!”

 _“THEM!”_ The whimpering man howled and Billy noticed as Steve froze, the trembling in his hands returning.

“Who?!” 

“The Others! On the - on the other side! They need _hosts!”_

Suddenly, Harrington burst into life, shaking his head violently before ripping the pen out, the nail falling onto the crimson water below him as he dragged the bloody skin with it, the flesh trapped between its frayed ends. With wide, watering eyes he inspected the pen and with a face torn between fear and loathing, Steve pressed his elbow onto the man’s arm, breaking the next finger back with a click so it angled perfectly upright before driving the warped nib straight down as hard as he could.

Stunned by Steve’s extreme reaction to the man’s answer, Billy didn’t move, his breath caught in his throat as he watched his partner shake and ramp up the torture, “The other side… _the other fucking side?! NO! Is Mrs Brown going to die?”_ Steve asked, his voice shaking.

“They all will - everyone will until they are accepted - until transference is complete!”

Swearing despairingly into the darkness, Steve violently forced the metal tool past the nails matrix and right into the finger, bending the pen and finger back, tearing skin as tears of dread rolled down his cheeks. “NO! _No! Not again! NO!”_ He cried at his victim who was screaming his lungs out, thrashing in the water as the sound of oncoming footsteps began to echo through the room.

Billy had no fucking idea what had distressed Steve so much - hadn’t a goddamn clue what was going on in the slightest but somehow, survival mode was back again. “Y’got your wish Harrington, we can go - you've royally fucked him up! Get up!” He barked over their victims' groaning before rolling his eyes and knocking him out cold by cracking his head against the tiles. “See? He’s done, it’s over, you win. Get up! _Stand up!”_

To Hargrove's fustration, Steve remained on the floor, staring at the pen as he repeated “This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening” over and over again under his breath. Billy gave up on his coaxing, choosing instead to snatch Steve’s wrist and haul him to his feet before scrambling for the gun tucked into pants as two cops poured into the room. With his head hurting more than he’d ever thought possible, Billy didn’t think twice - raising the weapon and pointing the barrel at the group as he clutched Steve to him by his torn, blood-soaked coat.

 _“Stay where you are! Don’t fucking move or I swear to you, I fire!”_ He shouted and as the officers reached for their firearms, Billy released the safety and squeezed the trigger, holding Steve tightly as he felt him flinch like a startled animal - the bang piercing their eardrums as Hargrove watched the bullet clipped the arm of one of the cops. Gripping Harrington's wrist, he moved the man behind him protectively as he continued to yell _“Back the fuck off! Stay the hell away!”_ but these police weren’t like the guards - in fact they weren’t like any officer he’d ever seen. Instead of negotiation, caution or even a fight, they went for their guns first and Billy stared in horror as they withdrew their firearms, pointing them at the pair without saying a word.   
“RUN!” Hargrove snapped, turning on his heel as he led Steve to the door, thrusting the man in front of him as the silent cops fired, a bullet grazing his waist as he skidded out the fire exit.

  


Charging into the cold night, Billy saw the car park in chaos with the entirety of the hospitals’ population crowding their escape.

_“Bay three, you need to get to bay three - go, go now!”_

Scanning above the mass of people, Billy squinted, spotting the sign.

_“Steve - you need to take him, you can’t leave him!”_

Spinning around, he gripped the man’s arm again and dragged him into the crowd, an elbow outstretched to forge a path for the two of them.

_“It’s not going to work, they’ll be on you any second. Fire the gun!”_

Pointing the firearm towards the dark, autumn sky, Billy fired twice, his fingers digging into Steve’s skin as he held him close, waiting for the now screaming, panicking horde in front of him to start to disperse, fleeing from him and the gun he held at arm's length.

_“Bay three. Bay three.”_

The freezing mist stung the open wounds on Hargrove’s face as he sped towards the glowing sign at the back of the car-park, his vision starting to tunnel as he closed the distance to the taxi.

_“Breathe - don’t pass out. If you drop, he drops. Twenty seconds and you will be there.”_

Billy gasped for air, his chest burning from the combined pain of migraines and his injuries as his boots thudded on the tarmac.

_“Fifteen.”_

“MOVE!” He yelled, shoving a woman out of their way, not looking back as she fell to the ground.

_“Ten - Keep going.”_

Tugging at Steve with hands he couldn’t feel anymore, Billy grunted in agony, only now spotting the end to his flight.

_“Five! Have the gun ready, threaten him if you have to.”_

Crashing into the side of the cab at high velocity, Hargrove held Steve upright as he tugged at the handles, swearing loudly and looking up at the sky in disbelief before hammering on the drivers window with the gun, shouting for Kareem who frantically undid his window.

“What the-”

 _“OPEN THE DOORS! NOW!”_ Billy shouted aggressively, trying the handles again as the locks clicked. Slinging the door open, he thrust the still shivering Steve into the back of the taxi and searching the gloom one last time behind him, Billy climbed in too, slamming the door before clutching his temples with both hands, the guns hilt pressing into his cheek.

“Drive! Get us the _fuck_ outta here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams fist on the desk* IT. IS. DONE.
> 
> 5 weeks planning has led to this chapter - notebooks, broken pens, post-it's, countless cigarettes and here it is. 
> 
> I wanted to try and capture what it would be like for Steve/any guy who'd escaped fucked up trauma that almost left them dead, facing the return of it. It's been ten years approx since those incidents. He's grown up, he is trying to chase normality, he is alone almost all the time - the discovery of a supernatural virus and other dimensional beings trying to break into this world through the form of disease/body/mind control is not something that is gonna be received well, at all. As a teen, maybe he'd be able to handle it better, but at almost thirty years old following the most ridiculous and revolutionary two months, he's only a moment from breaking.
> 
> And so is Billy, whose survival mechanisms are considerably more complex than Steve's - the usage of which comes at a high price. 
> 
> No one when going through truly terrifying things remains consistently in control, especially when pushed to the edge. It's at that place, with your heels hanging over the edge of the abyss that people are driven to extreme reactions in their attempt to survive and morality just becomes some fucked up joke. I wanted to try and convey how people like these characters would navigate a life and death situation - Billy having witnessed the death/suffering of one of the kindest people he'd ever known, Steve staring at the return of the Upside Down and a life on the run - and how they deal with the knowledge that this evil... Was done on purpose. I didn't want to have them doing 'the right thing', I wanted them to be confused and unhinged, any lives spared being a selfish act rather than a selfless one.
> 
> I also wanted to describe the pairs unique bond through survival. There are some pockets of genuine care/warmth in the midst of this hellscape that probably spans about 30-45 minutes in real time - if that. I also wanted to demonstrate how having to take care of the other can snap people out of crisis and into their unique protective states, revealing the interesting things people are prepared to do to defend the other. Finally, I wanted to begin to explain how Steve (even in his darkest places) will be able to calm Billy when he is going nuclear/almost lost to his dissociation. When you are losing your freaking mind, terrified and out of control, it's one of the scariest places to be, especially for people like Billy who contend with their bodies being hijacked if they do not stay focused. At these times you need something consistent you can focus on - something to ground yourself - and for Billy, Steve's instructions and collected attitude when he goes into that authoritive mind set, works perfectly. All Hargrove needs to pay attention to is the instruction, obey each one as they come and focus fully on the present.
> 
> A life saver, all be it a fucked up one. And here will be the basis of his _submission_ to Steve as opposed to the masochism element. Doing as he is told by Steve and Steve alone keeps him calm and in check. Helps him navigate what is real. Kinda like kids - rules/discipline/boundaries create safety for them and the same applies for Hargrove for more... saddening reasons. Problem is, Steve is a nervous wreck and he has NO idea he has just become some kinda dangerous animal handler, and he isn't exactly the most considerate of people.
> 
>  **So here marks the end of this part of the series!**  
>  After this point, I will be continuing the next chapters in another thread titled: **Not in a Million Years.**. The series title will be **Transference** and I will link where I can as soon as the new thread is set up. The next chapter will see the pair arriving at Billy's apartment with Steve in shock and Hargrove being driven to madness by his bizarrely flirtatious persecutor as they try to make sense of what's just happened. Eventually after finally eating and drinking themselves into a stupour, Steve stays at Billy's house and life after the return of the upside down begins!
> 
> THANK YOU ALL WHO HAVE STUCK WITH THIS TO THE END OF THIS PART, I ADORE YOU! Seriously, means the world. I hope this chapter conclusion is everything you wanted it to be
> 
> Kit

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, and thank you for reading!!
> 
> I will take the time here to warn anyone who hasn’t got past first few chapters that whilst there will be a happy ending eventually, this fic is gonna get dark. 
> 
> There will be bloody fights, malice, exploitative behaviours, trips back to abusers and punishment. Extreme self loathing, percieved weakness and inferiority will give rise to aggression, rage and hatred of the other. Whilst one drinks and tortures hiself, the other gets stoned to forget, and both have given up on themselves. 
> 
> There will be light though. I have found sex and sadomasochism can be very healing when you find your equal, and whilst it may start unhealthy and from a dark place, people learn and grow. No one is perfect, certainly not through survival, and sometimes we just need to find a source of compassion and understanding to allow that for ourselves.
> 
> This is a tough write for me for many reasons you may come to understand but it ihas been good! This is gonna be LONG, split into 3-4 phases, each phase formed of approx 18+ chapters. I publish weekly around sundays/Mondays! 
> 
> I answer questions if you have any and I love talking ideas or hearing your experiences with survival, as it helps improve the writing.
> 
>  
> 
> I love all my regular readers, you rule! I am working on illustration alongside this fic as that is my day job, and yeah. Let’s see where we can take this! 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading <3  
> \- Kit


End file.
